


Bedside Manner

by alkjira



Series: Is There A Doctor In The House? [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, What is canon anyway..., hospital!AU, human!AU, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is the head of the Neurosurgery department at Erebor Hospital. Bilbo is a plastic surgeon who specialises in paediatric surgery and he is also Gandalf's newest recruit to the surgery department.</p>
<p>If it's not already completely clear: this is a modern!human!hospital!au</p>
<p>And I might be insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: "It's Not Like It's Brain Surgery"
> 
> From the author who decided that Thorin would make a good Hobbit... Now she has decided that what this fandom really needed was an AU where most everyone works in a hospital.
> 
> Guys, I don't even know... But fair warning, no guarantee for when this will be updated. As I didn't even mean to write it I really have no clue what to do about this. There are more pairings planned (I'm using planned in the loosest sense of the word) and they'll be added to the tags as they happen. 
> 
> Other warnings: everything even remotely medical related in this is likely to be horribly wrong as I couldn’t be arsed to do even the slightest bit of research. This plot bunny just demanded to be written.
> 
> I would blame diemarysues for everything, except that she only mentioned the words “safety glasses” and then this happened. There aren’t even any safety glasses in it for crying out loud. At least not yet. Ah!

"Thorin, I need you to do me a favour. You know we've managed to get Bilbo Baggins to join our little family here at Erebor."

Thorin very carefully did not roll his eyes. There was something about the way Gandalf said ‘family’ that made it clear that the old man really meant it. Unfortunately for him, while the people working in Erebor Hospital’s surgery department were perhaps dysfunctional enough a group of people needed more than that to be deserving of the title. Besides, as long as Azog remained head of the Otolaryngology department, Thorin would never consider them family. How someone who approached surgery like it was a battlefield (if the patient was still alive at the end it was considered a success) could become head of anything was beyond his comprehension. Thorin didn’t have any proof, but he suspected that Azog might have more than one tie to the hospital board of directors.

"I will not promise to behave myself," Thorin said and crossed his arms. "But only because I always behave myself. It's not my fault that -"

"Thorin, please," Gandalf interrupted. "Of course I trust you; in fact I wanted you to be the first one, apart from myself of course, to welcome Bilbo to Erebor. He'll be popping in around two o’clock today, just to say hello mind you. His contract with the Shire won’t be up for another month, and I'm afraid I somehow got involved in a meeting I can't reschedule."  
  
Casting Gandalf an unimpressed look – it seemed that these impossible-to-move meetings always seemed to crop up when they best suited the old man – Thorin shook his head.

"Can't Bofur do it instead? He is actually -" Thorin paused.

"Available?" Gandalf asked. "I'm afraid not, he's going to be in surgery for at least two more hours."

" _Friendly_ ," Thorin finished flatly, not having been able to come up with a better word for it. "He actually likes people. I don't see why you think I would be the best option. I hardly think you want Doctor Baggins to turn tail and flee before he can even begin working here.”

The old man chuckled. "I think you will find that Bilbo does not scare that easily. He spent about a year working in Africa for one.” Gandalf thoughtfully tapped a finger against the side of his bearded jaw. “Ethiopia I think, or perhaps Rwanda. And while he complained something horrendously about the fact that he left all his handkerchiefs back home, he forgot to mention the times when he had to sleep at the hospital because it wasn’t safe for him to return to his flat.”  
  
“I was not aware that you knew him personally,” Thorin said, silently hoping that this Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t be another Azog. Erebor needed skilled surgeons more than it needed people who knew people. He’d heard more than one person praise Doctor Baggins’ skills, but then again, one man could know a lot of people.  
  
“His mother was an old friend of mine,” Gandalf said, and Thorin’s eyes widened at the careful way Gandalf said the word friend _. Oh dear lord don’t let this person be some sort of illegitimate love child_ , Thorin prayed fervently. “I’ve tried to keep in touch with him over the years, but I’m afraid to say I’ve not always done such a good job of it.”

“But now you’ve hired him.”  
  
“Now I have indeed,” Gandalf said with a nod, and a rather smug smile. “And I dare say that if looks could kill, I would not survive the next time I met any of the administrators over at the Shire. They thought he’d be happy there, doing nothing but routine work. Bah, what a waste. But never mind that, my dear boy.”  
  
Like any man over 40, Thorin did not much appreciate being called a boy, but Gandalf merrily ignored the glare sent his way and instead continued speaking. “I’m glad you agreed to welcome Bilbo to the hospital. He’ll be down in the lobby around two pm as I’ve already said. I know you’ll do your very best to make him feel welcome.”

With that Gandalf gave a wide smile that made his blue-grey eyes almost disappear in a nest of wrinkles, and before Thorin could properly formulate a response, the old man had managed to disappear. Muttering, Thorin stalked down the corridor after him, but experience had already taught him that there would simply be no finding Gandalf until he wanted to be found.  
  
-  
  
Leaning against a stone pillar, Thorin sighed and lightly thumped his head against the hard rock. He’d realised when he’d gotten down to the lobby that despite knowing a bit about Doctor Baggins’ work, he’d never actually seen a photo of the man. Google had not been of any use what so ever, and he’d not been able to track Gandalf down to force a description out of him. Gandalf’s secretary claimed not to know where his boss had disappeared to which, considering that Gandalf was supposed to be in a meeting, seemed very unlikely. Still, Thorin had worked in Erebor for close to ten years now, and when Nori didn’t want to tell you something you’d best give up right away.

After another thump, still careful not to knock his head _too_ hard against the unforgiving stone - you didn’t get to become head of the Neurosurgery faculty by playing fast and loose with your own head (or with the head of someone else for that matter) -, Thorin admitted defeat and turned his gaze back to the people milling about in the room. No one looked particularly like Thorin imagined Bilbo Baggins would, but that could perhaps be blamed on the fact that his brain had convinced itself that this Bilbo was Gandalf’s son. (There was a surprising lack of long white beards in the crowd, and he couldn't see any shrewd grey-blue eyes either.)  
  
Thorin nodded his head at Dwalin who stood by the front doors with another guard, someone Thorin didn't know by name. Perhaps Doctor Baggins would announce himself to Dwalin? It would help to know what exactly Gandalf had told Baggins, but alas, Thorin doubted that Gandalf was done with the ‘meeting’. He didn’t know why the meddling old schemer would _not_ want to be the one to meet Bilbo, but whatever the reason it didn’t bode well.  
  
Sighing Thorin pushed himself away from the pillar and began walking over to Dwalin. It couldn’t hurt asking his friend to keep an eye out for anyone who potentially looked like a fairly esteemed plastic surgeon specialising in paediatric surgery. (Baggins had written a few fairly interesting papers, some of which Thorin might have read. Some more than once...)

"Excuse me, Doctor Thorin Oakenshield?"

Thorin looked to the right as that was the direction from which the voice had come, then looked down. A curly haired man seemed to have materialised by his elbow.

"Yes?" he said, hoping that he hasn't been assigned an intern and forgotten about it on top of everything else. But then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if Gandalf had arranged it and then seen fit not to tell him. Or he could simply have forgotten about it. If the man wasn’t such a wizard when it came to fundraisers then Thorin would bet that he would not be allowed to even be in charge of his own wardrobe. (Didn’t the man know that there were colours other than grey?)

“Excellent!" The man's smile was what only could be described as radiant. "I'm Bilbo Baggins, very nice to meet you."     
  
Thorin automatically shook the outstretched hand. _This_ was Bilbo Baggins? Then it was quite possible that he wasn’t related to Gandalf at all.  
  
Dirty blond curls flopped every which way and there was a distinct lack of anything remotely similar to a beard. Not to mention that Thorin wouldn’t have figured Gandalf to look so innocent and guileless, even as a new-born. If this was a man who had risen through the ranks due to talk instead of action, then he should have tried for an acting career and not one in the medical profession. It would also have fitted nicely with the man’s looks, because while not extraordinarily handsome he was definitely pleasing enough to look at, not to mention looking much too young to have been working as a surgeon for almost as long as Thorin had. Thorin had the grey hairs to show for it, but the mop of curls in front of him showed no signs of age. If it wasn't for the slight bags beneath Baggins eyes and the fine wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, Thorin would never have believed that he wasn't the intern he had first mistaken him for.  
  
Thorin realised that he was still holding the other man's hand and quickly let it go.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he said, still on autopilot. "Oh, but of course you know that already. My apologies." He met smiling hazel eyes and did his best to respond in kind.

"Gandalf described you to me. That's how I recognised you.” A slight flush came to Baggins’ cheeks and his gaze flitted about a bit nervously. Thorin repressed a sigh. He could just imagine what Gandalf had told the other doctor. Probably beginning and ending with 'don't be offended if he growls at you.'  
  
Not that Thorin growled at that many people. He just had little patience for people who stole his time. Dwalin was the one who growled, but then again, perhaps that was to be expected from someone working in security.  
  
“Whatever he’s told you, don’t believe a word of it,” Thorin cautioned, shaking his head when it just made the other man laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Baggins said with a chuckle. “While I might not have been able to pick you out of a crowd on my own I must confess I’m something of an admirer of your work.” Again a hint of redness crept over the man’s face. “I especially enjoyed what you published about Parkinson’s disease. I never considered that particular use for the deep brain stimulators until you pointed it out.”  
  
“Are you interested in neurosurgery then?” Thorin asked, a little intrigued against his will. To his surprise, his question caused Bilbo to look a bit stricken.  
  
“Oh, I - I’m not here to try and take your job. Of course not. I’m perfectly happy with my field. Not to mention I don’t really fancy going back to med school at my age – seeing as before anyone would let me poke around in a brain that would simply have to be a prerequisite.”  
  
Thorin raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t at all considered that his question could be interpreted like Bilbo had, but: “‘Poke around in a brain’?”  
  
“God, I’m sorry,” Bilbo moaned and covered his face with his hands, which Thorin absently noted to be fairly small and dextrous looking. In other words pretty much the perfect hands for a surgeon. Not that Thorin’s own hands had ever let him down; but he didn’t have particularly fond memories of practicing to tie knots. Tiny knots, over and over again, just to be sure that he would be able to work with the precision needed.

“Gandalf didn’t happen to mention that I say stupid things when I’m nervous?” Bilbo asked, peeking out from behind his hand. “Because that’s true. And when I started working at the Shire there might have been some hard feelings from someone who had been aiming for the position. Fairly unpleasant business. Lobeli- oh, but I shouldn't mention any names. Did _I_ mention that I talk too much when I'm nervous?”  
  
If Thorin had been a kinder man he would have said something along the lines of there being nothing to be nervous about. But as it was, he simply raised a hand and gestured towards the row of elevators at the other end of the lobby.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
-  
  
“I didn’t scare him away,” Thorin said as soon as Gandalf walked into his office. Not looking up from his paperwork Thorin added: “And I do hope you had a good meeting.” There might have been a bit of sarcasm in his voice, but only in the same way as there was a bit of water in the ocean.  
  
“A most excellent meeting,” Gandalf said brightly. “And I hear that the same can be said for you.”  
  
“As I said, I didn’t scare him away,” Thorin said drily.  
  
“Oh, I promise you, Bilbo was most enthusiastic.”  
  
That Thorin could believe. The surgeon had seemed rather taken by most of what he’d been shown, and Thorin could admit that he liked seeing someone admire Erebor so openly. It was a fine hospital they worked in after all, and their surgery department was one of the best in the entire country.  
  
“How wonderful,” Thorin said, still not looking up from the pile of papers he was going through.  
  
“I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind -”  
  
“I rather think I would.”  
  
“Thorin,” Gandalf scolded. “You don’t even know what I am about to ask.”  
  
“You’re going to ask me to make sure he gets settled all right when he actually begins working here,” Thorin said. “Have Bofur do it. As I said, he’s the friendly one.”  
  
The silence radiating from Gandalf was reproachful. Thorin happily ignored it. “Or have Haldir do it. Or anyone but me. Anyone but Azog,” he added after a moments consideration. “If you let Azog get him settled I’ll tell you right now that I won’t be responsible for his safety.”  
  
“Would that be Bilbo’s safety, or Azog’s?” Gandalf asked mildly. Thorin finally looked up from his desk to shoot him an unimpressed look.  
  
“I think it’s safe to say I’d not be held responsible for the fate of either.”  
  
“Understood,” Gandalf murmured. “But as I always say, life is full of surprises.”  
  
“If there are any more surprises still left for today, please save them for someone else. And by the way,” Thorin added as Gandalf turned to leave. “Whatever you said to Doctor Baggins when you told him I’d be meeting him, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t the next time the occasion to describe me crops up.”  
  
“I promise you I was nothing but complimentary,” Gandalf protested.  
  
“Whatever you said caused him to have trouble meeting my eyes,” Thorin stated. “And as I prefer to make people uncomfortable on my own merits, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do it for me.”  
  
Gandalf tilted his head and looked much too contemplative for Thorin’s peace of mind. But all the old man said was: “If Bofur would happen to be too busy, would you perhaps -”  
  
“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, please let me know that I'm not crazy. Or at least that you'll be keeping me company when the men in white coats arrive for me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have read and commented and or subscribed :)  
> And to diemarysues for, as usual, saving me from myself.

“It can’t have been _that_ bad.”  
  
“I just cannot believe I said that,” Bilbo wailed as he plonked himself down on his desk. "What possessed me? ‘I think your job description is poking around in someone’s brain, but I enjoyed your deep brain stimulators, Doctor Oakenshield’," he said in a exaggeratedly breathy voice. “Oh, dear lord…”

"‘I would also enjoy a thorough buggering’," Esmeralda chimed in from where she stood leaning against the door frame.

"It's not like that," Bilbo protested. “And if you’re going to be talking about buggering do at least close the damned door before Hamfast wanders by and you end up scarring him for life.” Their caretaker was a godsend, but rather old fashioned, and Bilbo would not have a heart attack on his conscience. Esmeralda winked at him and thumped her sports bag down on the floor before pushing the door shut.

"Come now," the blonde said as she sauntered into his office, "just admit you wanted to sleep with the guy the minute you read that stupid -"

 "It's not stupid."

 "- paper. And this was before you saw that the good doctor was smoking hot."

"I _never_ said that he was smoking hot," Bilbo said grumpily. “I would never say that anyone is smoking hot because that is a very poor description and -”

“No, you just had literal stars in your eyes and hearts flying around your head when you came back from Erebor.” Esmeralda smirked. “I’m pretty sure that means that he wasn’t Quasimodo’s uglier brother. Also, I have something called the internet, and I used it on my lunch break. He is _totally_ smoking hot. You should see the pictures from Erebor’s last fundraiser. I know you _haven’t_ , because your head has not exploded.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. And also, ‘literal’ does not mean what you think it does. ”  
  
Inwardly Bilbo was chiding himself for not having thought about doing an image search for Thorin Oakenshield. What was worse though was the fact that he probably would do one on his phone as soon as he could safely do so without Esme looking over his shoulder. But only in the interest of science of course. Would his head actually explode? (And if so, _why_?)  
  
 “Oh, I respectfully disagree.” His cousin rooted through her pockets until she triumphantly pulled up a scruffy tissue. She dabbed it theatrically at her dry eyes. “I must say I think you’re a bit of a bastard,” she sniffed. “Leaving us for Erebor just because you’ve the hots for some Doctor, no matter how gorgeous he is with that hair and those eyes. Not to mention the _beard_. I didn’t even know surgeons were allowed to have beards. You don’t, and Lobelia obviously doesn’t. Seems a bit of a hazard.”  
  
“He can just wear a hood instead of a mask,” Bilbo said while definitely _not_ thinking about how that beard might feel against one’s skin if one were to kiss the owner of said beard. Nope.

…  
  
  _Fine_.   
  
Bilbo might have a tiny, teeny - barely even there! - crush on Thorin Oakenshield. It wasn’t his fault; he was just a sucker for anyone who could make neurostimulators interesting. It didn’t have anything to do with the way Doctor Oakenshield filled out his clothes, or how his eyes were a ridiculous shade of blue that couldn’t really exist in nature but _did_ because Thorin hardly seemed the type of person who’d wear contacts. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with that.   
  
…  
  
Okay, so it did, but just a _little_.  
  
Then again, did it really make things better that he’d had the crush even before knowing those things about Thorin? Probably not.   
  
Bilbo sighed. Pathetic if you did, pathetic if you didn’t. He _really_ needed to start dating again. Preferably someone who didn’t at all look like Thorin. So in other words someone short, scrawny, and bland.   
  
Perhaps he could date himself - or was that just a euphemism for wanking? Because if so, he already had it under control.  
  
Esmeralda snapped her fingers. “Here,” she said, handing Bilbo her tissue. “You’ve got some drool, right here.” She pointed towards her chin and Bilbo snorted and threw the tissue at her head.  
  
“I’ll tell Saradoc you spent the evening pestering me about, and I quote, ‘hot guys’ instead of heading home early to be with him and Merry,” Bilbo threatened. “Don’t think I won’t. And then he’ll divorce you and you’ll finally have to learn how to cook.”  
  
“So you do admit that he’s hot?” Esmeralda asked innocently.  
  
“Saradoc is not my type,” Bilbo said loftily. Two could play that game.  
  
“Saradoc has actually already agreed that he’s hot, your doctor that is. Though Sar can be rather full of himself at times; I’ve seen him prancing about in front of the mirror just _accidentally_ flexing his arms has he walks by. I showed him the pictures - again, of _your_ doc. If I took pictures of Saradoc that’d just encourage him.”  
  
“He’s not _my_ doctor!” Bilbo jumped down from his desk. “That’s it, I’m calling it a day, if you want that ride you asked for you better shut up and come with me.” And of course Esmeralda ignored everything about what he’d just said that she didn’t want to hear.

“Good, because if he was your doctor he’d be legally obliged _not_ to sleep with you. Or I guess it’s not illegal, because I hope he’d not blackmail you into it, not that he’d need to, but they’d probably revoke his license in either case. Not to mention that needing a neurosurgeon is never a good sign, so it’s good that he’s not your doctor for that reason alone.” She frowned. “Though he’s supposedly a very good surgeon so I guess that if you really needed one -”  
  
“Esme,” Bilbo whined. “It’s 8 pm. I’ve had a long day. I’ve embarrassed myself not only once but twice in front of someone who is going to be my colleague and whom I admire a great deal. And those two instances are just the times I actually noticed what I was doing, so any impression I might possibly have been hoping to make is most definitely ruined. I’ve finally finished all my paperwork, and I just want to get out of here before Elrond can come by and look sadly at me for quitting.”  
  
“Well why didn’t you just say so,” his cousin chirped. “I was just waiting for you anyway, so let’s go.”   
  
Bilbo groaned, but he admitted defeat and silently went to get his coat.  
  
“Seriously though, cousin, you will be missed,” Esmeralda said as they were walking down the corridor. “Things will not be the same around here, and can I have your office? Pretty please and I’ll not make you babysit Merry until he’s learnt what the word ‘no’ means?”

“One,” Bilbo said, raising a finger. “I’m here for another month. Two, you’re a GP not a surgeon, so if you get my office you’d be half a hospital from where you need to be. Three, it’s not really my decision anyway, and four; since I don’t think either of the previous reasons will stick, I expect that you’ll have to fight Lobelia for it.”  
  
“Killjoy,” Esmeralda sulked and bumped him with her shoulder. “She has access to scalpels, what do I have? Tongue spatulas, that’s what.”  
  
Bilbo shuddered. “But those things _are_ horrid.”  
  
“Your office just has such a nice view, and the hardwood floors are gorgeous.” Esmeralda’s yearning look turned sly. “Though I guess your new one will also have a nice view, albeit not one over the bay. And speaking about gorgeous -”  
  
“Did you _want_ to walk home?” Bilbo asked. “Because that’s fine by me.”  
  
“I probably should,” Esme said. “Sar’s cooking is really starting to build up on my arse.”  
  
Bilbo snorted and ducked the hand aimed at the back of his head.  
  
“And he’s bloody well doing it on purpose too, that evil perverted bastard, making all that delicious food knowing I won’t be able to resist so that he can -”  
  
“Please, no details about your sex life,” Bilbo begged.   
  
“It’s unfair that not everyone can have your cute little tush,” his cousin complained. “Though I could name a certain dark-haired neurosurgeon that probably _could_ have it. As many times as he wanted.”  
  
“You are horrid,” Bilbo said sincerely. “Absolutely horrid and I’m ashamed to call you my cousin.”  
  
“Want to come over for dinner? Saradoc texted me earlier, he made his bacon wrapped chicken, that sadist.”  
  
“However,” Bilbo said, suddenly more charitable towards her, “marrying Saradoc might’ve been your one shining moment. I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I just stay away from medical topics this should be fine...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's more.

About a month after their first meeting, Thorin met Baggins for the second time. This was a bit unexpected - not because he'd doubted the man’s decision to work at Erebor, but because Baggins’ first day had been scheduled right in the middle of Thorin's annual leave. It was another two weeks before he would be allowed back in the hospital, so he hadn’t expected to see the other surgeon until those two weeks had passed. And yes, ‘allowed back’ was indeed the right choice of words.  
  
Thorin's annual leave wasn't something he particularly looked forward to. He was good at one thing and that was his work - his work and brooding if you were to ask his sister – so vacations were completely unnecessary not to mention a waste of his time.  But Gandalf had this bizarre notion about the need for time spent away from the hospital. And the old man usually remembered that Thorin had not actually been on vacation when he wanted to prove something. Like for example that helping Baggins settle in at Erebor would have been an excellent undertaking. Oh, did Thorin not agree? That was completely all right, everyone is titled to their opinion, and when did you say that you were planning on taking your vacation again?  
  
It was a strange sort of punishment to be sure, but then again, Gandalf was a strange kind of person.  
  
Thorin always had at least one day completely off each week, which was plenty. And there were plenty of evenings and early mornings. On the latter he could go by the gym (and if he pretended that the sandbag was Azog that was no one’s business) and on the former and his free days he could see Dís and the boys and occasionally go out for a beer with Dwalin and/or Glóin.

As it happened, Thorin had been about to arrange for them to have a pint at the Green Dragon when he bumped into Baggins.  
  
It was early afternoon on a Saturday, but the streets were almost empty due to the cold, stinging rain that seemed not the least bit inclined to quit anytime soon.  
  
Thorin was digging through his coat pockets for his cell, and while this didn’t sound like a very complicated task, it was made all that much difficult due to the fact that he was also trying to balance an umbrella and a bag of groceries. He’d just started wondering if he’d actually left the phone at home when he collided with someone walking in the opposite direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I - _oh_. Doctor Oakenshield?"

"Doctor Baggins," Thorin acknowledged as he recognized him. With a small sigh he gave up on finding his phone (perhaps he _had_ left it at home) in favour of reaching out a steadying hand when it seemed that the amount of bags and parcels Baggins carried would make him tip over. It was little wonder the man hadn’t seen where he was going.

“Thank you.” Baggins smiled up at him. “And please, call me Bilbo. We’re going to be working together after all. Well, not really working together as we’re in different sub-departments, but I’m not in the same one as Bofur either and I see him practically every day. “  
  
“Then I’m Thorin,” he replied, because despite what Dís claimed, he'd not been raised in a barn. He could manage polite conversation, for a while at least, until someone wanted to talk about the weather or something equally inane.  
  
Baggin - Bilbo did not seem to be too interested in weather as he had apparently not seen the forecast that morning, because while his arms held an abundance of things there was a distinct lack of an umbrella. His hair, which Thorin remembered as being already on the messy side of curly, seemed to have absolutely exploded due to the humidity and Bagg - Bilbo’s eyelashes were clumped together in wet spikes. As Thorin observed him the man shivered and hunched further into his coat. Belatedly, Thorin tipped the umbrella forward to cover them both.  
  
“Can I walk you to wherever you’re going?” he asked, figuring that it could be his good deed for the day. He was a doctor after all, sworn to promoting health, alleviating suffering and so forth, and judging by the other man’s rather miserable look he wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable at the moment.  
  
“I couldn’t -” Bilbo protested. “Surely you have better things to do. I’m fine.”  
  
Perhaps if the protest had been in a reverse order Thorin would have put more stock in it. As it was he simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow.  
  
“I might be a little wet,” Bilbo admitted. “But I assure you I’m perfectly all right on my own. But thank you, for your kindness.”  
  
“Is it far to where you’re going?” Thorin asked.  
  
“No, not at all,” Bilbo quickly assured him. “I’ll -”  
  
“Then it’s hardly going to take much of my time to walk you there,” Thorin countered. Bilbo blinked up at him. Green eyes, Thorin’s brain informed him apropos of nothing. Or perhaps just hazel. It was hard to tell beneath the shade of the umbrella, not to mention it was not particularly bright outside it either.  
  
“And if I come clean and say that it’s quite a bit of a walk?” Bilbo asked cautiously.  
  
“Then I’m going to assume that you were lying to spare me the inconvenience and not because you wished to avoid my company,” Thorin said. “Because if it is indeed the latter, just say so.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Bilbo objected. “It’s not that at all. In fact…” He fell silent for a moment or two. “Would you like to have dinner sometime this week? I'd love to pick your brain about Erebor, not to mention that paper of yours.” Bilbo had no sooner finished speaking before his eyes widened in horror. “And I can’t believe I just used the expression ‘pick your brain’ after what I said about your work when we last met. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Thorin needed a second to remember what Bilbo actually had said when they last met, but when he did he surprised himself by chuckling. “No offence taken,” he said. “Pick, poke, it’s all the same after a while I assure you.”  
  
The slight flush on Bilbo’s cheeks had the benefit of making him appear much less likely to freeze to death within the next few minutes. Thorin rather approved.  
  
“The offer is genuine though,” Bilbo said cautiously. “Bofur has been very kind putting up with my questions so far, but I think I’m starting to wear him down.” The blond man winced. “Oh, but it's in the middle of your vacation. I'm sure you have plans. Especially now that you know I’ve managed to wear out my welcome even with someone as cheerful as Bofur. Not that you’re not cheerful, but well. I’ve not met anyone who is as cheerful as he is. And I rather like his hat as well. Do you perhaps remember that I talk too much when I’m nervous?” Bilbo added hopefully.

“No. I mean, I’ve no plans.” Thorin heard himself say, feeling a little dazed at the sheer speed Bilbo was able to string words together.

Bilbo beamed and suddenly Thorin had a mobile beneath his nose.  How the man had gotten it there was somewhat of a mystery considering Thorin hadn’t been able to locate his own whilst only holding _one_ bag; he counted at least eight in Bilbo’s hands, plus three parcels.   
  
Thorin spared another brief thought for his own mobile, and a call that had never been made to Dwalin, but with a mental shrug he thumbed his number into Bilbo’s contacts.  
  
He could always say that he’d acquired plans when Bilbo later got in touch. However, faced with the cautious, hopeful expression Bilbo was wearing he rather thought that he wouldn’t, which was something of a surprise. Perhaps it was that he could empathise with the man. It couldn’t be easy uprooting yourself from something familiar after all, even if it was voluntary.  
  
Still, if Bilbo was looking to make a connection with his new co-workers he’d best keep to Bofur and the rest - excepting Azog of course. Thorin didn’t really make friends easily, but Azog simply didn’t have any friends.  
  
“Excellent,” Bilbo said, somehow managing to shuffle his bags around again to take the phone back from Thorin. “So I’ll just check my schedule and give you a ring, or a text. And we’ll work something out. I’ve not yet memorized just exactly when I’m supposed to be on call. Or I had, but then it got changed all over again. Computer error they said. I do have the hours somewhere on my phone,” he shot it a dubious look. “Someone was kind enough to help me, tall blond fellow, I’m afraid I can’t remember his name, but I rather think something may have since then eaten it because I’ve got no idea where it disappeared to.  Not the phone obviously because I’ve got it here, but -”  
  
“You have settled in comfortably enough?” Thorin interrupted when he started to fear that Bilbo’s air would run out at any second. But worth noticing was that despite the rambling, which indeed did seem to be nervous in nature judging by the many sidelong glances (just what had Gandalf been telling him?), the hand holding the cell phone was completely steady. It was something of a relief for Thorin.  
  
Despite having come to accept that Baggins was most likely a good doctor and surgeon (Thorin might have been doing a little… research. Nothing invasive, just the sort of thing anyone would do when someone - who admittedly wrote interesting papers and who earned nothing but praise from his peers but still seemed more skittish than a herd of bunnies - was added onto the staff), there was a difference between knowing and seeing. Not that he’d seen Ba - _Bilbo_ operating on anyone yet, obviously not, but this was most definitely a good sign.  
  
“Yes I have,” Bilbo replied and the grin was back. “Erebor is a bit of a change from the Shire, a lot less plants for one, more marble and mosaics – the caretaker my department had would not approve at all I’m afraid, all those tiles must be hard to clean, but it’s undeniably beautiful and your equipment is absolutely state of the art. I -” he broke off to sneeze. “My apologies,” he said, arms flailing as he tried to catch the next one in the crook of his arm.  
  
“Let me,” Thorin said and liberated enough bags so that the other man could tug a checked handkerchief out of his pocket.  
  
“Terribly old fashioned, I know, but I hate paper tissues,” he sniffled as he caught Thorin’s look. As he stretched to reclaim his bags, Thorin moved them just out of reach.  
  
“I believe I was going to walk you to wherever it was that you were going,” he said. “I don’t mind,” he added when Bilbo seemed about to protest again. “If you catch pneumonia and Gandalf finds out that I could have done something to stop it he’ll never let me forget it.” Thorin would be on holiday for the rest of the year most likely.  
  
With a sigh Bilbo accepted his fate. “My car is just about two blocks up, over on the Green Way.”  
  
“That’s _not_ what I would call quite a bit of a walk,” Thorin remarked. “It’s barely five minutes.”  
  
“I might have been trying to scare you away,” Bilbo admitted as they began their trek. “For your own good of course. It’s hardly fair of me to be stealing your free time. ”  
  
“And now the truth comes out,” Thorin mused, making sure to hold the umbrella mostly above Bilbo. His own leather jacket could keep the wet out much better than the scrawny looking cotton thing the other man was wearing. “Gandalf has hired a _burglar_ and not another surgeon.”  
  
“That does seem like something he would do,” Bilbo smiled. “But I promise you, I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”  
  
“But you just admitted to the theft of my time.”  
  
“So it wasn’t freely given after all?” Bilbo replied and Thorin hid a smile and inclined his head.  
  
The rest of the walk was spent in silence that was not really tense, but not really comfortable either. Not that Thorin had ever really figured out what the exact difference was. There were only so many ways a person could be quiet after all.  
  
Still, he didn’t feel pressured into making conversation, and unlike many other people Bilbo also didn’t seemed to think that silence had to be filled with inane remarks on matters anyone with two eyes and half a brain already would have figured out for themselves.  
  
“Thank you,” Bilbo said once they had arrived at his car. “Much appreciated. And I’ll let you know about that dinner. Any preference for what the actual dinner should be? Any allergies that could lead to a horrible anaphylactic death? For example to Italian food?”  
  
“That sounds fine,” Thorin replied.  
  
“Great.”  
  
For a moment they just looked at each other. Then Bilbo turned around to unlock the car door.  
  
“Yes, again, terribly old fashioned of me -” he said over his shoulder, “- to not have a car that can go ‘beep boop’ and magically open itself, but it’s not like I can just abandon Myrtle.”  
  
“I’m sure somewhere there is a car dealer crying over a missed opportunity.” Thorin was simply going to overlook the Myrtle comment. Especially since it was quite possible that he’d named one of his old cars Minty. But at least that pile of rust had actually been a bright mint green. This car looked nothing like a Myrtle.  
  
“So, thanks again,” Bilbo said as he opened the door. “I’ll - um, see you later?”  
  
“I assume so,” Thorin said and nodded. “Unless you, aside from being an accomplished burglar, also have mastered the art of turning invisible.”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Oh I wish, I truly do.”  
  
Just as Bilbo was about to enter his car Thorin’s mind again decided to borrow his tongue without asking first.  
  
“I prefer Korean food over Italian.”  
  
For some reason this simple remark earned him another brilliant smile that seemed entirely out of proportion - even if Bilbo shared his food preference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The caveat still holds, I'm pretty sure the updates won't keep coming at this speed, but then again, if I knew what I was doing I wouldn't have picked a medical!au to write. I know nothing about hospitals except for what I've watched on shows like House. In other words, if they weren't surgeons I'm pretty sure someone would have Lupus by now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wonders why I made Bilbo a plastic surgeon, check out a comment I made on the previous chapter. That's more or less it.

“I don't get it,” Esmeralda said and pointed at Bilbo with her fork. “He wanted to have Korean instead of Italian. So? Why are you so happy? I didn't even know you liked Korean.”

“I've never had it,” Bilbo replied cheerfully and waved his chopsticks at her. “But if he planned on not being available when I called, he hardly would have bothered to tell me what kind of food he likes.”

“Your logic is not like our Earth logic,” his cousin sighed. “But congratulations on the date.”  
  
“It’s just dinner between colleagues,” Bilbo said defensively and poked at one of his spring rolls. “And I’ve not actually texted him about it yet. So thus far it’s just a theoretical dinner between colleagues.”  
  
“Sure,” Esme said disbelievingly. “So tell me, what's the reason you've not yet made the appointment for this ‘dinner between colleagues’? _And_ , as a bonus question worth ten points: how many times have you thought about what you'll be wearing when you go on your theoretical not-date?”

“I've not made it yet because I -”  
  
“Don't want to seem too eager?” There was really _no_ cause for that knowing look.  
  
“Because I've not had the time to check my schedule,” Bilbo replied and vindictively stole the last of the garlic eggplant chicken from Esme’s plate.

“Yeah, you're real busy,” she said drily. “Which is why you offered to come over here bearing Chinese when you heard Sar had to work tonight.”  
  
“Note how I didn’t make dinner myself. That’s because I was busy,” Bilbo said pointedly. “But I couldn’t let you starve. And I'll have you know I've not at all considered what I'll be wearing,” Bilbo lied. Because he had. At great length. But it was a complicated matter! For example, would a waist coat be too formal? The answer to that was probably yes, which was a shame because he had this rather handsome one and -

“Momma?”

“Merry, my darling,” Esme smiled and went to collect her son from the doorway he stood swaying in. In his green pyjamas and with blond curls standing out every which way he rather resembled a drowsy dandelion. “You should be asleep.”

Despite her words Bilbo noticed how very much Esme _didn't_ rush to put her son back in bed, instead bringing him to the table where he curled up in her lap.   
  
It was a bit tricky at times, Bilbo imagined, to have a job that could come with fairly irregular hours and also having a family. It was quite possible that she hadn’t seen him for a day or two. They were lucky that Saradoc’s hours at the restaurant were fairly flexible. Advantage of owning the place. The disadvantage was nights like this when he had to go in unexpected to solve something or another that no one else seemed to be able to do.

“Look,” Esme said. “Cousin Bilbo is here! And on a Friday night, when he could be... playing with other people. Isn't that nice of him, Merry?”  
  
Merry nodded and plopped a thumb into his mouth. With the rest of the fingers he waved woozily at Bilbo who waved back.  
  
“One would think that you spent all your Friday nights running about town, Esmeralda,” Bilbo said drily. “And not that you married the boy you've been in love with since you were seven as soon as you both came of age.”

“The difference, dear cousin, is the lack of mucking about. When I was seven I told Sar that I'd marry him. And so I did. I didn’t agonize about asking him out either.” She paused, and the look in her eyes made Bilbo clamp down on a sudden urge to run away.

“May I be blunt?” she asked, moving Merry around a bit to make him more comfortable. The boy was already more than half-asleep again, which was convenient as it meant he was content to just listen to the grown-ups talk. It was also terribly inconvenient because Bilbo had the feeling that he was not going to particularly enjoy this.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” he murmured. “You so _rarely_ say what you mean.”  
  
“Very amusing.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes.  “But as that was not a refusal… Your ex was a ba -” She glanced down at her son. “Very _bad_ person.” _Fucking shithead_ , she mouthed over Merry's head. “The worst. And I know you've not seen anyone else after him. That’s understandable. You got burnt and you needed time to lick your wounds, but now there is _actually_ someone in your life that you are interested in.” She looked at him earnestly. “I’m not trying to be mean, but Bilbo, you're one of the bravest people I know. Don’t let one bad experience ruin everything.”  
  
“You realise that Thorin is so far out of my league that it’s not going to happen anyway,” Bilbo said while looking very intently at his chopsticks. If he happened to be avoiding the subject that Esme had brought up… too bad. She could just see what it felt like for once. Judging by the exasperated look he received; not particularly good. She did let him get away with it though, which to be honest wasn’t more than fair.  
  
“That’s bullsh- not true,” Esmeralda objected, and Bilbo smiled at her.  
  
“Kind of you to say, but we know I’m not the pretty one in the family.”  
  
“Well, no,” she admitted. “But that’s because that’s Saradoc. Or maybe Petunia”  
  
“Da not pwetty,” Merry protested, thumb hovering about an inch outside his mouth. “Girls pwetty.”  
  
“Your dad is too very pretty,” Esme said and let her fingers rapidly play over her son’s belly. He giggled and squirmed as the tickling fingers moved up to his ribs. “And so are you my little darling. Everyone can be pretty.”  
  
“Girls pwetty,” Merry hiccupped stubbornly, proving that he was a Took even though his father was a Brandybuck. Seeing Esme so concentrated on her son, Bilbo contemplated making his escape. It would be a shame not to take advantage of such a nice distraction when one presented itself.  
  
“But since I’m a girl, don’t you think I ought to know these things better than you?”  
  
“Mommas not girls,” Merry said and gave his mother a look that offered his deepest condolences for her stupidity.  
  
Esmeralda shot Bilbo a foul look when he chuckled.  
  
“I think he’s got you there, cousin. Also, arguing about attractiveness with a four-year-old is somewhat of a loss either way.”  
  
“You still are plenty of pretty,” Esmeralda huffed. “Not that looks are what matters - are you making a note of this, Merry?”  
  
“Uh huh,” Merry replied, which was clearly a lie since he was well on his way to falling asleep again.  
  
“Maybe you should put him to bed,” Bilbo suggested when the boy’s eyes fell shut.  
  
“Will you still be here when I get back?”  
  
“I make no promises,” Bilbo said with a bright smile.  
  
“I’m stealing your shoes,” she informed him as she rose to her feet. “Thus preventing your cowardly escape.”  
  
“Foiled again,” he replied good-naturedly.  
  
“Perhaps you can use this time to take a look at your schedule,” she said in a voice dripping in saccharine. “That is, if you’re not too busy.”  
  
“I don’t make a habit of carrying it around with me.” Unless you counted that it was _somewhere_ in his phone.  
  
“There’s a copy on the fridge. What?” she asked when he made a face. “Forgot that you sent me one?”  
  
“Forgot that you own a printer,” Bilbo muttered.  
  
“Foiled _again_.” And that was apparently the last word as his cousin then pranced off to put her son to bed, as well as actually taking along Bilbo's shoes if the detour towards the cloakroom was anything to go by.  
  
Bilbo sighed and stuffed another spring roll in his mouth. He might as well get it over with. Like he said, there was no way it would actually turn into anything remotely similar to a real date. If he actually saw that for himself then maybe this stupid crush would go away.


	5. Chapter 5

_‘4 some1 “not friendly” Im :-O 2 hEr U goin 2 d8 w Bilbo’_  
  
Thorin squinted down at his phone. Curse Gandalf and curse his ungodly fondness for making everything as complicated as possible. What was wrong with writing in normal, understandable English? Even another language would be preferable as Thorin then could at least use the translate function. But sadly, Gibberish was not one of the options. Just to be sure Thorin had actually tried it with the ‘detect language’-option, but his phone insisted that it was English and was not at all helpful.  
  
The text likely had something to do with Thorin’s dinner plans since ‘Bilbo’ was the only clearly understandable word apart from ‘not’ and ‘friendly’.  Or at least Thorin assumed so since it seemed like a big coincidence that a mere hour after receiving a text from Bilbo with a proposal for a time and a restaurant he would get a text from Gandalf mentioning the surgeon. He didn't even wonder how it was that Gandalf knew, Gandalf knew almost everything, that was just a fact of life.  
  
Resisting the urge to throw his phone in the paper bin Thorin quickly replied with an all-purpose message.  
  
‘ _Are you 6 or 60?_ ’ That summed up his feelings on the matter quite nicely no matter what Gandalf was on about. Thorin actually had a suspicion that Gandalf was far older than 60, but 60 was all the old man would admit to. It seemed less like a vanity thing and more like a trick of sorts, but to what purpose Thorin had no clue. Except for slowly driving him insane of course, but he’d spent the last, oh dear lord, _twenty_ years working with Gandalf, and if it hadn’t taken by now Thorin was pretty confident that he was immune.  
  
Deleting the frustrating text was petty but it made Thorin feel slightly better. With a sigh he stuffed his phone down his pocket and continued his walk towards hospital. No, he wasn’t going in to work, he was still on his ‘vacation’. And regardless of what Dís kept telling him he didn’t have an addiction.  
  
He was simply going to drop off Dwalin’s phone as the other man had somehow managed to leave it in Thorin’s car the other night. He wasn’t going to go anywhere near the surgery department.

-  
  
“Don’t go near the surgery department or I’ll owe Glóin 50 bucks.”  
  
Thorin looked impassively at Dwalin who shrugged one shoulder. “He heard you were coming here. I told him you could stay away.”  
  
“Your faith in me is touching,” Thorin said drily. “As is the part where you command me in regards to what I should do.”  
  
“Technically I told you what you shouldn’t do, and if you saw it fit to not tell Glóin about it I would be willing to split my winnings with you. It’s not like he can’t afford to lose it.”  
  
“Should I tell Gandalf that our guards are not paid enough?” Thorin asked with an eyebrow raised.  
  
“Please do,” Dwalin grinned. “I’ve got my eye on a damn sweet bike, but right now I think I’ve got enough saved to buy one of the wheels. Maybe a wheel and chain guard if I borrow some money from Balin.”  
  
“Stop it or you’ll make me cry.”  
  
Dwalin snorted. “That would be the day. The only thing that’d make you cry is if you woke up and you weren’t pretty anymore.”  
  
“Was that what happened to you?” Thorin asked, pointedly looking up at Dwalin’s bald head.  
  
Dwalin smirked unapologetically and ran a head over the smooth skin. “I was thinking about getting some more tattoos actually, seems a shame to have all this space empty.”  
  
“Well you do have a big head.”  
  
The big man chuckled and slapped Thorin on the back, hard enough to cause a lesser man to crumble on the ground, but Thorin was, sadly, used to it. “Nah, I’m just kidding. I think even someone like Gandalf would have issues with my showing up with ink on my forehead. But speaking about ill-advised decision, want to go out for a pint tonight as well? Glóin’s out, family time, but -”  
  
“I can’t, I have other plans.”  
  
Really, there was no need for the look of disbelief he currently was on the receiving end of.  
  
“I thought Dís and the lads were out of town?”  
  
“They are,” Thorin agreed. “The new surgeon, Bilbo Baggins, I’m meeting him for dinner at Koba.”  
  
There was also no need for the sly, knowing look Dwalin was now giving him. Was Thorin actually the only adult working in this hospital, or was it just the company he kept...? Then Dwalin’s brow furrowed.  
  
“Hang on, I thought the new guy was dating Doc Broadbeam. Or something like that anyway. They’re practically attached by the hip whenever I see them. Not like you to go stomping into -”  
  
“I’m not going on a _date_ ,” Thorin said, crossing his arms. “Bilbo asked to -”  
  
“Bilbo, eh?” Dwalin waggled his eyebrows.  
  
Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. Really, everyone was _six_. Even Kíli was more mature than this and he was only four.  
  
-  
  
As Thorin walked towards Koba’s main entrance he caught a glimpse of a familiar curly head through one of the windows overlooking the foyer. Frowning Thorin checked his phone. He could have sworn they said seven o’clock and it was still a good twenty minutes to go, had they said six after all? The only reason Thorin was here this early was because there had been absolutely no traffic, and for some reason finding a spot to park in had also been disturbingly easy.  
  
Thorin snorted. You knew you had been living in a big city much too long when you started suspecting black magic if you actually found a place to park.  
  
A quick scroll through his texts showed that he had not been mistaken about the time, and it was also a reminder that - unlike some he could mention, Bilbo Baggins knew what the English language was. He even used proper punctuation.  
  
 _‘So sorry for last minute suggestion, but how about 7pm tonight at the place of your choosing? I’ll confess to not knowing a lot about Korean food.’_  
  
 _‘Oh, and this is Bilbo Baggins. I just realised that you might not have my number. But now you do.’_

Well, if they were both here there was no need to dawdle about was there?  
  
As Thorin opened the door Bilbo’s head automatically turned his head towards the sound of tinkling bells, and as Thorin met Bilbo’s gaze something fluttered slightly in his stomach.  
  
Good that they were both early because apparently he was hungrier than he’d thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd chapter uploaded today, so if this is the first you are reading, jump back to Chapter 5.

“I seem to be late, my apologies,” Thorin said politely and Bilbo shook his head, because really, no apology necessary.

“Oh no, I think we’re both early. I just have this tendency to be late unless I strive to be early, and as a result of that, and completely against my nature, I am usually early. For my first real job interview I was nervous enough about being late that I ended up being an hour early. Luckily they read that as interest and eagerness, and not desperation and a paralysing fear of traffic delays.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “Um, so I got us a table?”

At least he hadn’t told Thorin about how his bedroom didn’t even have any windows and how he’d specifically looked for a place like that when apartment-hunting since he didn’t want any pesky sunrays to shine down on him in the mornings. It was much too early to be talking about bedrooms on the first not-a-date-date, as Esme had taken to calling it.  
  
Regardless of what his cousin may accuse him of, Bilbo had of course not sent a last minute text in an attempt to get Thorin to say no. Of course not. And the fact that he picked a Friday, a day when a lot of people did tend to have plans, sheer coincidence.  It just happened to be Friday and he just happened to be in the mood for Korean food. That he didn’t even know what Korean food entailed… well, the less said about that the better.  
  
Bilbo blushed as he realised he was rambling both out loud and inside his head. At least the good thing about texts was that you could just delete the incoherent bits. If you realised that they were incoherent before pressing send... When you didn’t you ended up informing colleagues that you were who you were and wasn’t it good that they now knew it?

One of the waiters had been circling around him in increasingly small loops ever since he’d asked for a table for two and then declined to be seated (because the table was quite a bit into the restaurant and what if Thorin showed up and didn’t see him?) and the poor boy now seemed very relieved at finally getting him to said table. Bilbo had to remember to leave a good tip.

“Again, sorry about the short notice,” he told Thorin as they had been given the menus.  
  
“It’s fine,” Thorin said. “I understand that beginning a new job will leave you little control over your hours.”  
  
Yes. Yes, that was definitely it.  
  
“So,” Bilbo smiled brightly. “What do you recommend?”  
  
-

“Gandalf bullied me into taking the job actually,” Bilbo said while nabbing another piece of barbequed squid with his chopsticks. When Thorin had suggested it Bilbo might have thought that the other man was making fun of him, but it turned out to be surprisingly delicious. “Told me flat out that I was not only wasting my time, but also that I was wasting people's lives.”  
  
“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “That does sound like something Gandalf would say.”  
  
“Especially if it’s true,” Bilbo said with a wry smile. “Still, I was close to turning him down. I did in fact turn him down.”  
  
“I think you took a wrong turn somewhere after that then,” Thorin said and Bilbo chuckled. It had been a little hard at first to tell when Thorin was making a joke and when he was serious. He didn’t really smile a lot, in fact he looked rather stern and disapproving; still, in a very handsome way. But when he was joking there was a spark in his eyes that gave him away every time.  
  
“I ended up ringing him in the middle of the night, telling him that I’d changed my mind. And I can’t say I’ve regretted it.” Bilbo daringly reached over to poke Thorin’s hand with the thick end of one of his chopsticks. “And don’t say, ‘give it time’. Bofur told me you’ve been working at Erebor for close to two decades. You obviously enjoy it.”  
  
“Indeed,” Thorin nodded.  
  
“I’d been at the Shire for almost that long,” Bilbo said a touch wistfully. “But I guess sometimes you just have to move on.”  
  
Really, he should probably have done it years ago. Especially after Smaug had… Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“Enough about that, tell me; what you wrote about neurostimulators and alternative uses, I got the feeling that Parkinson’s wasn’t the only CNS related disease you saw a possible treatment for?”  
  
-  
  
“So, how did the not-date go?”  
  
“The not-date went _fine_ ,” Bilbo said. “Hang on a second, I’ll just need to plug in the headset.” Bilbo fumbled a little with the earplugs and accidentally put the phone on speaker before managing to set everything up correctly.  
  
There was just something about modern technology that seemed to hate him. Luckily it didn’t apply to anything inside an operating room, but give him a laptop and he was sure to make it choke to death on a DVD without even understanding what he’d done wrong.  
  
“What _are_ you doing?” Esme asked when he finally was able to hear her again.  
  
“Baking? I need both my hands.”  
  
Silence. “Esme? Are you still there?”  
  
“I thought you said that the not-date was good,” she said. “You usually bake when things have gone tits over arse.”  
  
“I said that it was fine,” Bilbo argued. “And I don’t bake when I’m upset.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Esmeralda said without as much as an ounce of sincerity in our voice. “Tell that to the ten pounds I gained after Smaug -”  
  
“Why do you keep mentioning him?” Bilbo asked and then winced. Even he could admit to sounding upset just then.  
  
“First of all, this is the second time in what, three days? And secondly, it’s because you are not-dating, and god does that sound stupid, and you are also _baking_.” She paused and Bilbo could hear her sigh. “I’m just worried about my favourite cousin.”  
  
Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that and Esmeralda sighed again when his silence stretched.  
  
“Did he turn out to be a complete tosser? Was he rude to the waiter? I know how much you hate that.”  
  
“I’ll have you know he was very polite, both to me and the young man who served us.” Thorin had been a perfect gentleman, which was perhaps part of the problem.  
  
“Can you sound any more like an old man even if you tried?” Esme said fondly. “But what’s eating you then, because there is something, I can tell that much even without smelling the cookies.”  
  
Bilbo stared into the oven where a sheet full of golden brown cookies was just about ready to be pulled out. They did smell delicious.  
  
“You can’t be in love with someone after just the third time you’ve met, can you?”  
  
“Honey,” Esme said in a very gentle voice. “You know I fell in love with Sar the first time I saw his stupid face. So if you’re wanting to hear a 'no' on that question, you better ask someone else.”  
  
The oven timer chimed and Bilbo absently pressed the button to turn it off.  
  
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s what I figured.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Thorin!” Bofur called cheerfully when Thorin entered the cafeteria. “Come and join us.”  
  
Not for the first time Thorin wondered how someone who had specialised in surgical oncology could be so damned cheerful all the time. He would suspect drugs being involved if he hadn’t known that there were no drugs in existence that could push someone up to Bofur’s levels of happiness. (If there were, everyone would already be required to use them.)  
  
Bofur was sitting together with Bilbo, Bard, and Boromir, and Thorin just barely repressed a snort when he realised that the four really have an awful lot of B’s between them. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but perhaps it just became that much more noticeable with Bilbo Baggins being added to the rest. All they needed was for Beorn to come wandering in and then the collection would be complete.  
  
Thorin nodded at Bofur, but gestured towards the side of the cafeteria which actually held food to show that he needed to find something to eat first.  
  
“Been a while,” Bofur smiled when Thorin sat down a few minutes later. “I take it your exile is over? Or vacation, as I hear Gandalf still insists on calling it. What did you do this time?”  
  
“It was more something I didn’t do,” Thorin said vaguely. “But he would have found a reason anyway.” At least it looked like something good came out of his denial to be the one to get saddled with the new guy. Bofur was sitting with his arm thrown over the back of Bilbo’s chair, and while the two of them wasn’t doing anything as blatant as cuddling, or even touching, they looked quite comfortable indeed. There seemed to be some truth in what Dwalin had said about the pair dating.  
  
“That’s a grim face, Thorin,” Bard remarked and a bit startled Thorin looked over at the nurse. “Don’t turn it on us,” Bard protested jokingly and held up his hands. “Or you will destroy us all!”  
  
Boromir nodded seriously, except for how one corner of his mouth turned upwards. “The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness, this city to ruin.”  
  
“Seriously though, is everything okay?” Bard asked when he and Boromir had stopped snickering. “Dís and the boys?”  
  
“Nothing is wrong,” Thorin replied as he unwrapped the sandwich he’d bought. He was fairly sure he’d not made any faces out of the ordinary, so perhaps Bard had just managed to forget what he looked like during his absence. That was an argument he would have to present to Gandalf next time; _can’t have time off, people forget that what my face looks like_. Or perhaps that was not really in his favour after all… damn.  
  
Bard was still looking expectantly at him, but thankfully Thorin knew just what to say to stop any comments before the other man could start again. “I’ll give Dís your regards,” he said pleasantly enough, and sure enough Bard coloured slightly and became rather occupied with his food.  
  
Thorin dreaded the day when Bard would actually grow the courage to ask Dís out on a date because then he would likely lose the only method he had of distracting him. Apart from that advantage, Thorin would gladly give his blessing. Bard was a good man, and he would be a good husband, not to mention a good role model for Fíli and Kíli who probably needed someone other than their stuffy uncle to take after, but… he had the distinct feeling that Bard didn’t really give two bits about _his_ opinion on the matter anyway. Nor would Dís for that matter.  
  
“Is she your wife?” Bilbo asked, peeking out from behind Bofur, and it took a moment for Thorin to understand that the question was meant for him.  
  
“Dís?” he asked, a bit stupidly; because who else had they been talking about. “No, she’s my sister.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo replied, sounding as if it was a surprise that Thorin could have a sister.  Thorin hid a scowl by biting into his sandwich.  
  
“You wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at them,” Bofur said with a chuckle and waved his fork in Thorin’s direction, his other hand gesticulating for emphasis and briefly coming to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder. “But I’m sure you’ll meet her soon enough.”  
  
“So she also works here?” Bilbo asked, poking at the remains of his food. He had finished eating but he likely did not want to leave before Bofur was also finished.  
  
“She’s a lawyer,” Thorin said shortly. “And occasionally she takes cases for the hospital.” As long as Azog wasn’t somehow involved. Dís had met the man once and then refused to have anything to do with him again. His sister had always been a good judge of character.

Thorin realised that he might have been a little too short with Bilbo when the man deflated slightly. He hadn’t intended to sound annoyed, he was in fact _not_ annoyed as it was a valid question. But Azog always could annoy a saint, and then there was something about the way Bofur had put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder that had irked him. They better not end up snogging in the break room. No one needed to see that.  
  
“Look who is back,” a voice said behind them and Thorin’s shoulders stiffened. Of course. It would be too much to ask for one full workday without…  
  
“Azog,” he said without looking back.

“Oakenshield,” Azog said and Thorin could picture his toothy grin all too well. “I’m surprised you survived another vacation without pining away entirely.”  
  
“I was equally surprised when I realised that it’s been six months since someone tried to sue you for malpractice,” Thorin replied. He put down his sandwich and pushed his chair back. For some reason he’d lost his appetite. He caught Bilbo looking at him in concern and nodded at him in what he hoped was a reassuring manner as grabbed his tray and rose to his feet.  
  
Thorin was not a small man, but Azog was at least 6’3 and he used that height loom over everyone he deemed beneath him; which was literally everyone. Refusing to let himself be intimidated, Thorin met the pale blue eyes briefly before turning back to the table.  
  
“I’m sure I’ll see you later,” he told them, not bothering to explain his departure. It wasn’t that hard to figure out anyway, and with him gone they could at least have a chance to finish their meal in peace.  
  
“Not if we see you first, Doc,” Bard said and winked.  
  
“Considering that Bofur asked him to join us I think you need to rephrase that,” Boromir said drily. A little amused Thorin watched as the anaesthetist held his fork firmly aimed towards Azog, as if expecting an attack that could be defended with cutlery.  
  
“I should be going too,” Bilbo said and gathered up his things. “I’m off in an hour or so anyway and there’s still all that lovely paper work I need to go through.”  
  
“Oh that’s right,” Bofur said and snapped his fingers. “But we’re still on for -”  
  
“Aren’t they just adorable?” Azog asked with false sincerity as he joined Thorin as the latter moved to dispose the remains of his lunch. The bald man exaggeratedly sniffed the air and cast a glance back towards where Bofur was gesturing about whatever plans he and Bilbo had for the evening. Their date, Thorin’s mind helpfully supplied. “Love is in the air. Not that I’d expect you to know much about such things, Oakenshield,” Azog  scoffed.  “Playing house with your sister is fine and well, but it won’t get you a strong, tough son like my Bolg.” The pale round face turned sly. “Unless… I hear her youngest looks a lot like you. Dark haired even though both _parents_ were blonde. Strange how such things happens sometimes, eh?”  
  
“Please,” Thorin said, fighting to keep his temper in check. “Repeat that foul insinuation when my sister is around. I’d be glad to see her drag you to court for defamation.” He would also like to see Dís kick Azog in the balls, but he’d take the former too.  
  
Without waiting for any reply Thorin deposited his tray in its rack and strode away.  
  
“I’m _sure_ I don’t know what you mean,” Azog called after him, his grin easy to hear and trailing after Thorin like an oil spill.  
  
Too caught up in his own thoughts Thorin entirely missed hearing Bilbo ask him to wait, but Azog didn’t and observed the little curly-haired man with a calculating expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah, I was just going to write something about Thorin being thicker than a brick, what with being jealous over something that is not even going on and then not even realising he’s jealous, but ugh! I hate Azog. Such a creep. *shudders* 
> 
> Bilbo chapter to follow shortly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 / 2 uploaded chapters today, go back one if this is the first you see.

“But surely it's insane. I can't be in love with him.”  
   
The sigh that came from Esme must have been audible all the way across the Atlantic. “I've stopped _listening_ to you, cousin,” she sing-songed. “I stopped over a _week_ ago when Radio Bilbo started sending nothing but reruns.”  
   
“Perhaps I was talking to Saradoc,” Bilbo sniffed.  
   
The man in question looked up from the beef he was frying. “Mate, you _are_ talking to yourself. I don't even know why you're in our flat since you seem to do fine keeping yourself company. Make yourself useful and help me with the carrots. Or go ring this guy and ask him on a date.”  
   
Grumbling Bilbo washed his hands and proceeded to peel and chop the carrots Sar needed for his stew.  He _had_ tried asking Thorin on a date. Or, he’d tried to try. But something always got in the way. The first time Bofur had wanted to talk about the play he was planning to drag Bilbo to.  
  
Apparently the leading lady was someone Bofur had an enormous crush on, and despite getting a personal invitation from her to come to the premier, he still thought he needed the moral support.  
  
 _“And I can’t ask anyone else, Bilbo,” he’d said. “You’re the only one I trust not to make fun of me when you see how far out of my league she is. My brother would probably snicker loud enough for the entire theatre to hear. And these two -” He’d gestured towards Bard and Boromir. “Are simply no good either. Scoundrels the both of them.”_  
  
 _The innocent expression the two men put on did seem to prove Bofur’s claim._  
  
 _“But showing up with someone? Isn’t that going to give her the wrong message?” Bilbo had pointed out, glancing towards where Thorin stood glaring at Azog, but Bofur had just shrugged it off._  
  
 _“She knows I’m not seeing anyone. Please, you have to come and stop me from hiding in the wardrobe. I’ll check myself in and refuse to come out.”_  
  
And when Bilbo had managed to extract himself, Thorin had been gone. He’d caught a glimpse of his hair as it disappeared out the door, but the other man hadn’t heard when he called after him. And for the rest of the week, Thorin had been pretty much impossible to track down on his own, and Bilbo was not going to ask him with other people around, nor was he going to do it over the phone.  
  
If he did the former than he would chicken out, (and if he ended up hiding in a closet that would be so much more cliché than if Bofur ended up in a wardrobe) or he would possibly die from embarrassment when Thorin said no in front of everyone. If he tried it over the phone then it would be so obvious (beyond all point of denial) that he would indeed be asking for a date as he had several chances to talk to Thorin every day; he wouldn’t need to call him or ask him to dinner to talk about his research. (Which still was unreasonably fascinating, and Bilbo had indeed been talking to Thorin about it whenever the opportunity presented itself.)  
  
No, he had to just… sneak a dinner suggestion into a normal conversation somehow.  
 _‘I spent two hours today fixing a little girl’s cleft lip and would you like to go to dinner?’_ (It was possible he needed to work on his sneaking skills before actually trying this…)

"Cheers,” Sar said when Bilbo handed over the carrots. “And now the horseradish. A table spoon please, grated. And no, I don't want the table spoon grated,” he added with a fond look towards his wife.  
   
“Spoilsport,” Esme sulked. “I was just about to ask.”  
   
“I am so incredibly surprised,” Saradoc deadpanned.  
   
“Want me’balls,” Merry declared from the corner where he’d been sitting. The child was surrounded by about a cubic meter of crayons, and to back-up his statement he held up a piece of paper with a giant brown blob drawn on it.  
   
“And meatballs you'll get,” Sar promised as he put down the finishing touches on the food before putting the pan back into the oven.  ”Now everything will get nice and tender, and we can leave Uncle Bilbo to deal with the tricksy stuff like the horseradish. Can you say horseradish, Merry?”  
   
“Whore dish!”  
   
“Close enough,” Saradoc said and did an admirable job at hiding his wince. “And please tell Miss Camellia that your mum taught you that one when she asks.”  
   
Esme snickered.    
   
“But never mind that, now we make meatballs!”  
   
“Me’balls!” Merry cheered and scrambled up to join his father by the refrigerator, slip-sliding his way over the crayons.  
   
“This is your fault you know,” Sar said, looking over his shoulder at Esme. “If it weren't for your genes I'm sure he'd like horseradish more than meatballs.”  
   
“I'm not buying that,” Esme said and stuck her tongue out. “Look at Bilbo, he's got my genes too. And he’s handling that radish like a pro.”  
   
“Leave me out of this,” Bilbo said mildly as he stirred the grated horseradish into a small bowl of sour cream. He then did the same with the chives and parsley Saradoc had already prepared.  
   
“Good try, my dear, but I met his parents and he takes after his da, and that's the wrong side of the family tree for you, darling wife of mine.”  
   
“Still counts,” Esmeralda shrugged.  
   
Bilbo finished by mixing in the lemon juice and then put the bowl away in the fridge.  
   
“Maybe I should go pick up some ice cream for dessert,” he suggested when no one seemed to pay any attention to him; Saradoc showing Merry how to crack an egg and Esme frowning down on her crossword. He might as well make himself useful. Plus, ice cream. Still, he wasn't going to turn into a teenaged girl and have ice cream while he pined, because he wasn't pining. So there.  
   
“Ice cream!” Merry cheered, squirming in Saradoc’s arms.  
   
“My legs need stretching,” Esme said closed the newspaper with a frustrated huff. “And so does my brain. I'll come with you.”  
   
“Ice cream!”  
   
“And apparently so will my son.”  
   
“Merry, my boy,” Sardoc said with a grief-stricken  look on his face. “Are you really going to abandon your old man? Who is slaving away to make meatballs for you, his only son?”  
   
“Ice cream,” Merry solemnly told his father and patted his cheek. “Down.”  
   
“Say that horseradish is better than meatballs and you can go,” Sar haggled.  
   
“Whore balls,” Merry said and pulled on his father’s shirt.  
   
“Close enough.” Saradoc said, and put Merry down, his voice thick with repressed laughter. “Really, Esme, you _need_ to be the one who deals with Miss Camellia. You are a doctor; she is impressed with things like that. She's not going to have _you_ arrested.”  
   
“Maybe you can make her cookies?” Esme suggested as she tried to find her shoes. Bilbo had already finished dressing (putting on his shoes wasn’t really that time consuming) and busied himself with trying to convince Merry to wear a jacket. “Or we can send Bilbo. Everyone likes Bilbo.”  
   
“Leave me out of this as well.”  
   
“But _everyone_ likes you,” Esme whined. “You should probably have joined the UN. Peace on earth. All that jazz. You’re so incredibly selfish being a doctor, shame on you.”  
   
“I don't think so,” Bilbo said with the kind of patience only growing up with someone could give you. “Are you coming or am I and Merry going alone?”  
   
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She zipped back into the kitchen to give Sar a kiss and Bilbo watched them through the doorway, feeling oddly despondent. Maybe he was just lonely. He probably wasn't in love with Thorin after all, he should just get a dog. Maybe. Because that wouldn’t really be fair on the dog. Perhaps a fish? Did fish get lonely? If so he could get two.  
   
-  
   
“I'm telling you, cousin, the UN is _really_ missing out.”  
   
“We got free samples,” Bilbo said wryly and shifted his grip on Merry to allow the boy to curl one arm around his neck.  
  
Merry had wanted to carry the ice cream, and that idea Esme had shot down as they hadn’t bothered with a bag, so Merry carrying it would result in the ice cream melting from being clutched to his little chest for the entire walk back. This had _not_ been a popular decision so Esme was now carrying the ice cream and Merry was sulking in Bilbo’s arms.  “I hardly think free ice cream is going to solve the problems in the Middle East.”  
   
“No, but that’s because the ice cream would melt too fast and then everyone would be even pricklier.”  
  
Bilbo rolled his eyes.  
   
“Don't give me that look. You know I'm entirely -”  
   
“Doctor Baggins.” Bilbo knew that voice. It was possible he knew it a little too well since he could imagine it saying all sorts of-  
   
“Thorin!” Bilbo turned to give the other man a smile and resolutely forced the inappropriate thoughts to go away, or at least to go into hiding. “Please, what happened to Bilbo? You managed it fine just the other day.”  
   
“Bilbo,” Thorin nodded slowly, and the way his name sounded in Thorin’s low, almost raspy voice made Bilbo’s stomach flutter even with the frown Thorin was wearing, clearly his stomach was confused.  Any and all fluttering had to be related to the ice cream he’d tried. Blueberry pumpkin had _clearly_ been a mistake.    
  
Thinking about voices then made Bilbo very carefully _not_ think about another man who had also had an unfairly indecent voice, who also towered over him and who was, who _had_ also been a doctor; even if that was where the similarities with Thorin ended.  
  
He not-thought about it hard enough that he entirely missed what Thorin said next. “I'm sorry, what?” Bilbo blinked.  
   
“He wanted you to introduce your lovely _wife_ ,” Esme smirked. “I'm afraid you are out of luck, Doctor Oakenshield,” she said, sounding anything but. “No wife. I'm his cousin. And while I hear that is legal I'm afraid it was not meant to be. Esmeralda Brandybuck,” she added and reached out a hand for Thorin to shake. “And the little dandelion fluff Bilbo is holding is my son, Merry. Merry, want to say hi to Doctor Oakenshield?”  
  
Bilbo had a sudden mental image of Merry deciding to share his recently learnt expression ‘whore balls’ with Thorin, so it was somewhat of a relief when the young boy merely shook his head hard enough to make his curl fly like previously mentioned dandelion fluff, and hid his face in Bilbo’s neck.  
   
“Nice to meet you?” Thorin said, sounding rightfully doubtful. He was probably shocked to learn that talking too much was a shared family trait. “I’m sorry to interrupt your outing.”  
  
“Oh, no worries,” Esmeralda smiled. “We were just getting ice cream while my husband slaves away at the stove. It’s nice meeting you, Doctor. Bilbo has been telling me so much about -”  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened in panic.  
  
“- your work, but I’m afraid most of it just goes over my head. GP,” she added, pointing at herself when Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Without the slightest interest in Neurosurgery I’m afraid. Bilbo on the other hand -”  
   
“We have to go now,” Bilbo interrupted when it seemed the conversation would soon turn onto a path he was not really interested in while Esmeralda was standing right next to him. She wasn’t really _people_ as she was his family, but still, he couldn’t ask Thorin on a date while she was right _there_. And if they stayed it was possible she would say something that would make him unable to ever look Thorin in the eyes again. And everything else aside, that would be a shame because Bilbo was still trying to come to terms with that shade of blue even existing. “We’ve got, um, ice cream,” he finished lamely and gestured towards the box Esme was carrying.  
   
“Of course,” Thorin nodded.  
   
“I’ll, see you? At work.”  
   
“Unless you become invisible.”  
  
The tip of Bilbo’s ears felt hot and the chuckle he let out probably sounded a little forced because the playful glint in Thorin’s eyes disappeared as quickly as it had come. Sadly, Bilbo’s heart was still making all sorts of acrobatic flailing around and declaring that it was the idea of the century to kiss the edge of Thorin’s mouth, just where his lips curled up in the smallest of smiles, and who cared about Esme anyway. Surely Thorin wouldn’t mind? He could be generous and let Bilbo -  
   
Thankfully, Esme took pity on him before things got out of hand.  
  
“Indeed, we should be off. Again, very nice meeting you, Doctor Oakenshield.”  
  
“ _Invisible_?” his cousin hissed when they were out of earshot. “That was so a private joke. You have _inside jokes_ with the man. Why haven’t you asked him out already?” She didn’t give him any chance to reply before continuing. “I mean, come on! When he thought I was your wife he said ‘lovely’ the same way Saradoc says ‘delicious’ when I've cooked. It wasn’t a compliment. And I do own a mirror, I don't think he found me _that_ repellent just based on my appearance.”

“So modest,” Bilbo murmured.

“Stop being grumpy! He wants you, you want him, go sha -” She glanced at her son who was currently entertaining himself by playing with Bilbo’s curls. “- _kiss_ him already since neither of you have a wife to mind it! That's sure to improve your mood. Unless he is the type who thinks he's so gorgeous, that he thinks he doesn't actually have to do anything while ‘ _kissing’_. In which case -”  
  
“Are you talking out of experience?” Bilbo asked innocently, knowing full well that his cousin had only ever been interested in Saradoc and that he was a very attractive man.

“You’d be _so_ much less grumpy,” she lamented, ignoring him. “And then you could truly bring peace to the world. Disney animals would come eat from your hand, and the entire universe would be a better place. Just ask him!”

They walked in silence for a few beats; Bilbo not really knowing what to say in regards to the Disney animals comment, and Esme appearing to be lost in thought.  
  
“He _is_ more gorgeous in person,” she added after a while. “I didn’t really think that would be the case. But you did check out the images of him in the tux, yeah?”

Bilbo had. And it was quite possible he’d saved the pictures of Thorin from Erebor's last fundraiser on his laptop. He had then immediately deleted them of course, because he wasn’t a creep, but somehow he thought that the fact he had the page bookmarked didn’t help his case…  
  
“Red,” Merry remarked and poked at Bilbo’s cheek.  
  
“Thank you,” Bilbo sighed. “I hadn’t noticed.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, there is a high chance of everything medical related being wrong.

Rubbing at his forehead Thorin pushed open the door to the break room with his other hand.  
  
No voices or other sounds greeted him, and the surgeon let out a deep breath. He had been looking forward to stretching out on the couch for a couple of minutes, and doing that would be easier if there was no one around who wanted to talk or look commiseratingly at him.  
  
After he’d saved up enough energy he would call Dwalin and see if he could possibly come and give him a ride home, because Thorin didn’t really trust himself to drive. It was Dwalin’s day off, but he usually didn’t need to be pushed very hard before agreeing to take his bike for a spin, and this way Thorin wouldn’t have to deal with a cab driver. The way his day was going, it would be a chatty one for sure.  
  
Thorin’s shift had started quietly enough. A meeting with the department secretary about scheduling, and after that he’d been set to review a couple of patients transferred to him from other departments. However, that had quickly gone out the window when the hospital had gotten notice that there had been a bad car accident up on the highway. Erebor’s share had been no less than seven incoming patients with multiple blunt trauma injuries, three of those with very severe head injuries.  
  
Three of the seven was now in their respective recovery rooms, probably still unconscious but with fair to good chances of a full recovery. Two were back on the operating tables as they’d had worse internal injuries than first thought; Thorin wasn’t too clear on the details as neither one of them had been under his own department. One of the patients who had been was now in a medically induced coma to give the brain a chance to reduce the swelling, and it was still touch and go. And one… one hadn’t made it.  
  
 _Died_ , the crasser part of Thorin’s mind supplied. She’d died. _Hanna_ , her name had been Hanna. And he hadn’t been able to save her.  
  
Cerebral edema, internal bleeding, and Hanna had gone into cardiac arrest and then respiratory arrest before they could even get her from the ambulance and into an OR. The people in A&E had managed to get her close enough to stabilized to hand her over to Thorin, but he hadn’t been able to save her. She’d died on the operating table.  
  
Sadly that _hadn’t_ been the low point of his day. No, that dubious honour would have to go to the 16-year old girl who had been shot in the head by her jealous boyfriend. The surgery had taken five hours and just when Thorin thought that they’d made it she had crashed and that had been it.  
  
And now Thorin couldn’t for the life of him remember her name and wasn’t that just the kicker. He knew he should know, he’d signed all the paperwork, but it wouldn’t rise to the front of his mind.

Feeling as if he was trudging through a swamp Thorin moved towards the couch, only to come to an abrupt stop when he realised that it was already occupied.  
  
Bilbo Baggins wasn’t a very large man, but he managed to appear even smaller when lying curled up on one side of the big leather couch taking up most of one of the walls in the break room. He looked very young, not like a child exactly, but his face was smooth and untroubled. As if he was still unfamiliar with such things as blood and bone and patients you couldn’t help.  
  
Before Thorin knew what he was doing he brushed away the curls that threatened to fall into Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo stirred, but didn’t wake, and as Thorin snatched back his hand the blond just curled himself into a tighter ball and let out a breath that sounded a lot like a sigh. He looked cold and Thorin wished he had a blanket to cover him with, but that was just another thing not going his way today.

He might as well call Dwalin right away then, probably for the best.  
  
Or… maybe he could at least sit down first, just for a little while. Thinking about walking to any of the hospital’s exits made Thorin feel as if he was considering a cross continental expedition, on foot no less, and it wasn’t like Bilbo was using the entire couch after all.  
  
Slowly, both out of exhaustion and a wish not to wake Bilbo, Thorin sank down on the creaky leather.  
  
With a sigh he let his head fall back against the head rest and just breathed. After a minute or two something pushed against his side and he opened eyes he hadn’t really been aware of closing.  
  
Bilbo was slowly uncurling again and it was his socking clad feet that had nudged against Thorin’s thigh. Thorin noticed absently that the man had rather big feet for someone whose head only reached up to Thorin’s shoulder. And his socks were pink.  
  
Early afternoon was a bit of an unusual time to for someone to be asleep in the break room, but perhaps Bilbo had also been involved in the day’s ‘ _excitement’_. Thorin hadn’t kept track of who was doing what outside his own department, trusting that Éomer and Éowyn would have matters well in hand in that regard. Having siblings run the same section sounded like trouble, but they were very good at what they did and Erebor’s trauma department was renowned on a national level. Still, it was quite possible they had needed a plastic surgeon to do some repair work on torn blood vessels, or perhaps tendons or muscles.

Bilbo’s deep and steady breaths were almost hypnotizing and Thorin’s eyes tracked the even rise and fall of the other man’s chest without consciously being aware of it.  
  
Bofur had likely not been involved at all as it was his day off and nothing about the accident was really relating to his speciality, so perhaps he’d be coming to collect Bilbo later. He would probably have a blanket in his flat and he’d tuck Bilbo into his bed and make sure he got to sleep without risking his spine becoming permanently bent.  
  
An image of Bilbo in Thorin’s own bed flashed by, but Thorin merely blinked and discarded it as irrelevant, something brought on by his longing for his own bed and the current subjects of his thoughts.

Sighing again Thorin let his head thump against the couch.

He probably owed Bilbo an apology, for jumping to conclusions about him and his cousin, or rather for believing him capable of being married and at the same time carrying on with Bofur.  
  
The two hadn’t yet made it official that they were a couple, but why would they since it was so obvious from how they acted with each other, always sitting together and laughing and touching.  
  
Nothing Thorin had seen in regards to Bilbo’s character so far would indicate that he’d be the type who’d cheat on a partner, and ever since Thorin’s run in with Bilbo and his cousin he had been on the receiving end of  more than one sidelong glance. It seemed Bilbo wanted to talk to him about something, and Thorin could very well imagine what about. He might not the be the best at picking up social cues, but even he had been able to tell that Bilbo had used the ice cream as an excuse to get away from their conversation, and when Thorin had tried to lighten the mood with a joke the effect had rather become the opposite.  
  
Bilbo had been perfectly pleasant in their interactions since then, but there was clearly something on his mind. So Thorin would do them both a favour and apologise. But not now, because it seemed a shame to wake the other man just because Thorin had a guilty conscience. He probably needed the rest more than an expression of regret.  
  
The white button-down shirt Bilbo was wearing was creased and the two top buttons were not fastened even though the other man was usually looking very proper. With each breath Bilbo took the fabric rose… and fell… and rose… and fell… and…  
  
Between one breath and the next Thorin’s eyes fell close and he too fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what to say about Thorin’s obliviousness. I’m sorry?
> 
> Bilbo chapter coming up shortly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As has become usual for this story, this is the second chapter of two posted on the same day, so if this is the first you see, go back one.

It was the worst kind of cliché, but when Bilbo woke up, he was at first quite sure that he was still dreaming. His ascension from sleep had been gradual and unhurried. Everything, except for his rather stiff neck, felt wonderfully relaxed and warm, and the feeling of someone’s arms curled over his hips and stomach was just lovely. Especially since they smelled like the cologne he’d noticed Thorin-

...  
  
His common sense finally winning over residual lethargy; Bilbo raised his head and peered down.  
  
A mess of dark hair streaked with the occasional grey greeted his sight and Bilbo blinked. And then blinked again. No. That did indeed look to be Thorin.

The idea that Thorin would have joined him on the couch and voluntarily gone to bury his face in Bilbo’s stomach (so close, but so far from other areas that would be interested in feeling Thorin’s hot breath- and Bilbo _had_ to stop that line of thinking before he embarrassed himself) was not one that Bilbo _opposed_ , not at all. But judging by how Thorin's feet were still planted firmly on the floor it rather looked like he’d just sat down and then more or less tipped over when he fell asleep. Maybe unconsciously seeking out any available heat source considering that the break room was not particularly warm.

Bilbo wasn’t surprised that Thorin _had_ fallen asleep. His own day hadn’t been particularly filled of puppies and candies either, but no one in their right mind would be looking to _him_ in regards on what to do with a sudden influx of people in need of emergency surgery. And also, he hadn’t lost a patient.  
  
He couldn’t really see much of Thorin’s face, but Bilbo thought that he probably needed the sleep.  
  
However, there were two problems with that. Firstly, like everyone else in the hospital Bilbo knew that what you needed after a really crappy day was your own bed and not the break room couch. The couch was just for _moderately_ crappy days, like the one Bilbo had had.  
  
The second problem was that Bilbo rather needed to get off the couch (so close, but regrettably so far from getting off _on_ the couch), and it was doubtful he could move much without waking Thorin.  
  
But he couldn’t just stay where he was, even if that seemed the much better alternative to doing the paperwork he needed to have done before seeking his own bed. However, paperwork had the tendency to triple if left alone for too long, so he’d best get to it if he wanted to go home any time soon. (And he did. Even if there was a big lack of sleeping, dark-haired neurosurgeons at his flat.)  
   
What if you invite Thorin to _your_ bed? a greedy little voice in Bilbo’s head suggested, and he firmly ignored it, just like he ignored how close Thorin’s (big, warm) hand was to cupping his arse.  
  
Resisting the urge to stroke his hand through the long dark hair (was it as soft as it looked?) Bilbo instead gently nudged Thorin’s shoulder and softly said his name.  
  
Well-trained like most doctors who regularly was on call ended up being, Thorin immediately responded, mechanically raising his head. Dark lashes fluttered before they lifted to reveal cloudy blue eyes, and there was very little Bilbo could do about the thought that he wouldn’t mind seeing this again, on average once a day, for the rest of his life.  
  
“I fell asleep,” Thorin rasped, running a hand through his hair as he sat up. He glanced at his watch and Bilbo took that time to arrange his face into something as close to nonchalant as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Thorin uncomfortable by making a big deal out of this.  
  
“Yes, I noticed,” Bilbo nodded, stretching to work the kinks out of his back. “And if your back feels anything like mine, I’m sure you want to continue this-“ _Back at my place_. “-in your own bed.” _Can I come?  
_  
 _Really_ , Bilbo thought when he felt a slight flush of heat on his face. He definitely needed to start dating again if this was how low his tolerance for double entendre had gotten. Being embarrassed by your own brain was not a good sign. But now was not the time to try and connect Thorin into that dating plan, the poor man looked half-asleep still and asking him out after such a bad day was just not a decent thing to do. And no, Bilbo was _not_ making up excuses. When Thorin said no, and he most likely would after all, then Bilbo would have been just another annoying part of an already bad day.  
  
“I- yes,” Thorin said slowly. “I'll need to call Dwalin.”  
  
For a moment, hot jealousy rushed through Bilbo. Then he remembered that Dwalin was the big guy; one out of the many big guys who worked in security. Dwalin was the one who sometimes ruffled Thorin’s hair and told him to get a haircut.  
  
Bofur had mentioned something about Thorin and Dwalin being related, though Bilbo didn’t doubt for a second that Dwalin had gotten his job at the hospital on his own merits. The man’s arms were about the size of Bilbo’s thighs, but he still always nodded politely at Bilbo when their paths crossed. Anyhow, it was likely that Dwalin was just a good friend of Thorin’s,  so Bilbo made an effort to stop being ridiculous and nodded at the other surgeon.  
  
“Sounds like a good idea. I’d offer to give you a lift, but I’m stuck here for however long it’ll take me to finish my paperwork.”  
  
“Quite,” Thorin murmured, not really paying attention and Bilbo tried not to take it personally. Seriously crappy day, he reminded himself.  
  
They both rose to their feet and Thorin started for the door, but he’d only taken a couple of steps when he stopped and turned back to face Bilbo.  
  
“I wanted to apologise.”  
  
 _Please don't say for sleeping on me_ , Bilbo prayed fervently. _I'll blurt out that you’re welcome to do it any time and that will be_ such _a mess._  
  
“Whatever for?” he managed.

 Thorin took a step back towards him and Bilbo’s pulse decided that it should take that as a sign to skyrocket.  
  
Thorin really was unfairly gorgeous, hair tousled and eyes still slightly cloudy with sleep, even if that was disappearing rapidly. He didn’t even have the decency to have any odd crinkles on his face for sleeping in such an awkward position.  
  
“For my assumption about you and your cousin,” Thorin said and Bilbo’s mind was forced to make a rather awkward jump from admiring how broad Thorin’s shoulders looked in the pullover he was wearing, to thinking about family.  
  
”Her son looks a great deal like you,” Thorin continued. “And of course like his mother. And naturally you both seemed very familiar with each other. But I shouldn’t have presumed to know what your relationship was.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, but he didn’t quite know what to say. Esme had claimed that Thorin was jealous, but sadly, this didn’t really sound like an apology for being jealous. “Well, I-“ He squinted at Thorin as if that would somehow make things clearer. “I don’t see how that’s something you need to apologise for. No harm done.”

Apparently Thorin didn’t agree, because he still looked troubled.  
  
“I just, I wouldn't want for Bofur to get hurt. I’ve known him for a long time, and he seems to care a great deal for you.”

The conversation had officially gotten away from Bilbo. He blinked stupidly at Thorin who merely kept on talking.  
  
“But it was hardly fair of me to think that you’d string him along on the side while being married.”

“Wait a minute, I’m not with Bofur,” Bilbo said, almost feeling like he was asking a question, because Thorin had sounded so incredibly sure of what he was saying.  
  
Heavy brows furrowed. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I'd think I’d know that,” Bilbo argued. “Not to mention that I do happen to know who he _is_ dating and she’s both female and an actor. Definitely not me. I’ll confess to have been in a school play that one time, but it wasn’t what I’d have called a success. Regardless, I’m definitely not the one dating Bofur.”  
  
Calling what Bofur and Lynn was doing 'dating' might actually be pushing the truth, but judging by the soppy way they had looked at each other when Bofur and Bilbo had been allowed back stage it was only a matter of time, and a short amount of it.  
  
Bilbo abruptly came to a decision. Oh, to _hell_ with it. Thorin would just have to blame himself for this.

“So if you’d want to go for dinner again sometimes, I would definitely be available.”  
  
Then his bravery fled him and Bilbo might have done the same if it wasn’t for his lack of shoes. They were still standing neatly beside the couch, the traitors. He looked down and scraped his foot awkwardly against the ground. Would it be very undignified to just snag them and run? Did he particularly care about his dignity anyway?

“Do you mean- you wish to discuss my research, or Erebor, again?” Thorin asked, looking endearingly confused. Bilbo on the other hand mostly felt appalled. There was something very wrong with the world if Thorin got so few offers for dates that he'd not actually managed to recognize one when it was… well not staring him in the face as Bilbo wasn’t couldn’t just _stare_ at the poor man. That was hardly polite.

“I’m not opposed those two things as topics of conversation,” Bilbo said cautiously. “But I rather meant dinner as in something two people do when they go on a date.”  
  
There, he’d said it. Only, now Thorin wasn’t saying anything.  
  
The silence grew heavier with each passing second, and with a sigh Bilbo turned around to pick up his shoes, which was what he should have done in the first place instead of saying anything. Could this be sexual harassment? Probably not as they weren't really working together and there was nothing keeping Thorin from turning him down. Obviously.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he told the still mute and unmoving Thorin, trying to add as much cheer as possible into his voice. “It was just a thought. I’ll see you around.”    
  
Still no reply and Bilbo held back another sigh as he passed Thorin on his way out of the break room. Right. Well maybe now he could stop being ridiculous. At least now he knew it was not going to happen.  
  
Oh joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo didn’t know that Thorin had in fact lost two patients as it had still been “only” one when Bilbo had sought out the couch. He finds out about the other later.
> 
> It’s funny how Thorin, who’s “not” (using the term veeeeery loosely) in love, is the one who is all *pets Bilbo*, and Bilbo who knows he’s in love is *best not pet Thorin*.   
> Funny, or frustrating… But hey, weeeee! Bilbo has made the first step. Now Thorin just needs to get his head out of his arse, as Dwalin would have said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, this is now 11 out of 12 chapters, and this story is now part of a series. 
> 
> I’ve decided that this now makes up the first part in the “Is There A Doctor In The House?”-series. Part two… well, it’ll come when it demands to be written, just like this first part has. The plot is basically done though.
> 
> Chapter 12/12 should be posted fairly shortly. It's written, and I'm just sorting out the details.

For far, _far_ longer than someone who was in possession of a brain - not to mention actually being a neurosurgeon  - should have, Thorin remained standing in the break room; doing nothing but blinking slowly at the space previously occupied by Bilbo Baggins.  
  
This was truly turning out to be such an odd day.

Bilbo wanted to go on a date with him. Bilbo wasn’t dating Bofur, and he still wasn’t married. Bilbo had said that he’d like to go to dinner.  
  
No, Thorin still couldn’t get that to make sense.  
  
Bilbo. Wanted to go on a date. With him. Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
Bilbo, _liked_ him? Because you didn’t ask someone out on a date without liking them, at least a little. Unless you wanted something else than their company, but Thorin couldn’t imagine what Bilbo could want. Even if Bilbo wanting to spend time with him was- Wait, maybe that wasn’t as strange as it first sounded. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Bilbo to sit down next to Thorin during lunch, or strike up a conversation if they happened to run into each other in some random corridor.  
  
So... Bilbo liked him? Suddenly Thorin could look back on the looks Bilbo had been giving him over the last few days and see them in a different light. Unfortunately he still wasn’t entirely clear on what that new light _revealed_ , but perhaps the looks were date-related and not indicative that Bilbo thought he was an asshole for jumping to conclusions about his private life. Maybe.  
  
Bilbo wasn’t dating Bofur.  
  
Bilbo was _not_ dating Bofur. Strangely, because Thorin had been so certain that Bilbo _had_ been dating Bofur, that was easier to understand somehow. Bilbo was not dating _Bofur_ , but he wanted to go on a date with _him_ : Thorin Oakenshield.  
  
Thorin didn’t even remember the last time he’d been a date. But Bilbo wanted to have one, with him. Right. Okay. Good to have that settled.

Thorin started dialling Dwalin's number. It rung once, twice, three signals. Then the surgeon abruptly pressed the end call button.

Did _he_ want to go on a date with Bilbo? That was part of this too, wasn't it? A not entirely inconsequential part when it came down to it.

Absently Thorin noticed that his phone was now buzzing. DWALIN, the screen proclaimed.

"Don't be so bloody quick to hang up," Dwalin scolded him when he answered. “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I’m not exactly waiting by the phone for you.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, which basically meant half of what Dwalin had just said, Thorin opened his mouth to ask Dwalin to swing by the hospital.  
  
"Bilbo wants to go on a date with me."

That was _not_ a request for a ride home.  
  
Thorin pulled the phone from his ear and blinked at it as if it was the phone’s fault that his mouth had decided to rebel. No answers were forthcoming though, only Dwalin’s slightly tinny voice.

"-not dating Doc Broadbeam?"

"No," Thorin said, after only a brief moment’s thought. Then he remembered that he should perhaps put the phone back in its proper position closer to his mouth and ear. “No, he’s not dating Bofur.”

“Good for you then!” Dwalin said. “I didn't think you'd actually sum up the guts to ask."  
  
Thorin frowned. “Why-“ Then he remembered Dwalin’s comment (and eyebrow waggling) when he’d found out that Bilbo was meeting him for dinner that one time. And his own answer that it'd not been a date. (And the continued eyebrow waggling.) Oh. “Bilbo asked me actually.”

“Even better! Now you know he's not doing it out of pity for someone who hasn't dated in the last century. Your pretty face will only get you so far. So, you going for dinner again?”

In the next few seconds Thorin had three realisations:  
  
He _couldn_ ’t actually remember the last time he’d gone on a date. It wasn’t just a way of saying that it was a long time ago, he _really_ couldn’t recall his last date. When he tried to remember his mind kept jumping back to having Korean food together with Bilbo, and while that had been nice, it hadn’t actually been a date.  
  
It _had_ indeed been nice to go to dinner with Bilbo. That probably meant that he did want to go on a date with him, didn't it? An image of a sleep-rumpled Bilbo on the break room couch flashed into Thorin’s mind. His blond curls had been even more messy than normal, and Thorin had wanted to touch them again, he'd even had this strange urge to bury his nose in them. This also seemed relevant.  
 _  
_The third, and possibly most important, realisation was that he hadn’t actually said yes to going on a date with Bilbo.

“I didn't say yes.”  
  
“You said _no_?” Dwalin tone was very disapproving.

“No. I mean,” Thorin shook his head. “I didn't say anything. I don't-“

“Then say yes,” Dwalin said, sounding as if it was that easy.

“But why would he _want_ to go on a date with me?”

It wasn't like Thorin had a line of people asking him to go to dinner. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had even asked him out on a date either.  
  
(Unbeknownst to Thorin, this would actually be because when people tried, they were usually nervous, and they didn’t become less nervous by having Thorin frown at them while they stammered, and as a result of that, the message was usually lost in translation.)  
  
“He probably thinks you’re a girl,” Dwalin deadpanned. “And that's why he asked. I told you to get a haircut. Though considering your beard…”  
  
Thorin sighed.  
  
“Fine,” Dwalin said. “Be a teenage girl. With a beard. I just can’t believe you’re the one with a medical degree since you can’t reason your way out of a shoebox. Evidence seems to suggest that no matter the _why,_ he does want to go on a date with you. Because he bloody well asked. So say yes. It's not exactly a declaration to get married is it.”

That was… actually pretty decent advice. A dinner’s just a dinner, and Thorin had already figured out that he _wanted_ to have dinner with Bilbo. Dinner was a much better word than date. Thorin knew how to have dinner with someone. He had dinner all the time. He could do this.

“Are you done being a teenage girl yet? I can _hear_ you brooding you know.”

“I'm not- this wasn't actually why I called,” Thorin said, remembering that the topic of conversation had somewhat gotten away from him. “Could you come and give me a lift home?”

“To shook up about your _date_ to drive?”

“I lost two patients today,” Thorin said, staring blankly into the white wall in front of him.

There was silence on the other end of the line, then a sigh.

“He picked one hell of a day to ask you out, eh?”

There's nothing Thorin really cared to say to that, so he simply nodded, forgetting that Dwalin had no way of seeing him.

Thankfully, years and years of friendship paid off and unseen to Thorin, Dwalin nodded back, adding out loud that he'd be there in twenty.

After putting his phone away Thorin found himself at something of a loss.  
  
Bilbo _had_ said he'd be doing paperwork, so if Thorin happened to stop by the other man’s office, he'd probably be there. He owed Bilbo an answer – if he was still looking for one - and probably he owed another another apology as well. Maybe two, because he’d never apologized for falling asleep on him either.  
  
That… had also been nice, even if he hadn't meant to. Even if Bilbo probably thought that he was more than a little strange. Though not strange enough _not_ to ask on a date, part of Thorin’s mind pointed out. 

He brushed his hand over the shape of his mobile, tucked away in his trouser pocket. Maybe he could just text his answer? But he quickly discared that idea. No, he should find Bilbo and talk to him in person, apologize face to face.  
  
It has nothing to do with wanting to see him one more time before going home. Nothing at all.

-

“Oh, Bilbo’s already left,” Radagast said as answer to Thorin’s question. “Just a few minutes ago. Or maybe ten.”

Thorin frowned. Since he’d come the way Bilbo would have to have gone if he’d been heading towards the main entrance, Bilbo hadn’t been going there or they would have met. Unless he’d actually managed to turn himself invisible. 

“Do you know where he usually parks his car?” Thorin asked, remembering that Bilbo had talked about giving him a lift, so that should mean that he drove to work that morning.  
  
Radagast looked thoughtful. “Just give me a minute. I know this.” The pediatric surgeon snapped his fingers. “It’s-no, no that’s not it.”  
  
Thorin gritted his teeth. “Take your time,” he managed to say, already well-aware that Radagast would get there, eventually. Gandalf _swore_ that Radagast was fit to work, and that he never forgot something related to one of his patients, and there was indeed never any complaints, but sometimes Thorin wondered…  
  
While waiting he got his phone out and shot off a quick text to Bilbo.  
 __  
‘I’d like to speak to you. Are you still at the hospital?’  
  
“Over by the pharmacy! That’s where he parks!” Radagast beamed at Thorin, who nodded.  
  
“Thank you, Radagast,” he said before heading in the direction of the pharmacy at a brisk pace. Hopefully a few minutes ago was indeed a _few_ minutes ago, because then he’d have a good chance of finding Bilbo before he left.

He still hadn’t replied to Thorin’s text, but that didn’t have to mean that he’d already left. It could just be that… that he didn’t particularly wish to speak with Thorin at the moment. Thorin's steps faltered. But then he squared his shoulders and continued for the exit. If that was the case then he doubtlessly needed to offer his apologies, because he at least wanted to keep Bilbo’s friendship.  
  
Strange. The thought about merely being Bilbo's friend made something flutter unhappily in his chest even though he'd just come to the realisation that dinner sounded like something he wouldn't mind. As an experiment Thorin imagined what kissing Bilbo would be like. Kissing sometimes happened at the end of a date after all, so he might as well be prepared. Bilbo would either have to get up on his toes or Thorin would have to bend his head down, and Bilbo's lips would probably be soft. They looked very soft.  
  
Thorin frowned when he realised that he indeed knew the exact shape and colour of Bilbo's lips. And he knew the quirk that meant that Bilbo was both amused and exasperated and the way Bilbo's tongue looked when it quickly came out to wet said lips, something Bilbo did when he was distracted by a thought. All of a sudden it felt deeply wrong that he didn't know what Bilbo's mouth _felt_ like against his own, and Thorin hurried his steps.

To his relief his eyes found a familiar shape the very second after he'd existed the hospital. Bilbo was standing just a short distance away in the direction of the parking lot. He was talking to somebody, but that other person would just have to excuse Thorin's interruption. Surely sudden revelation came before a request for directions or whatever they might be talking about. Not that he was going to just storm up and kiss the man, but Thorin wanted to know for sure that the offer for dinner was still on the table.  
  
“Bilbo!” he called, not wanting to take the chance that Bilbo might resume walking and actually manage to disappear before-

When Bilbo turned to face him his eyes were wide with fear and Thorin felt his heart clench uncomfortably. Had he actually done something to scare Bilbo so?

Then Thorin saw the knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we have a cheer for Thorin? It took him some time, but he got there eventually. (just a little too late to avoid knives.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost done with the last edits and I ended up accidentally closing the window... Nooooo. Curse you fingers. But obviously I'm done again now.

“Esme, you give _crap_ advice. He’s not at all interested, nor is he jealous. He thought I was cheating on Bofur with you. Or, well, technically, cheating on _you_ with Bofur, what with the wife thing. And I asked him out, and god…” Bilbo dragged his hand over his face. “This is the worst voice message in the history of voice messages and I’m going to stop it right now. He didn’t say yes. Talk to you later.”

Hanging up was easy. Would that it would be just as easy to sort out the mess that he’d just made of his personal life. Maybe his professional too, if Thorin should become uncomfortable about spending any time with him. Erebor was a pretty big hospital, but not big enough for the two of them to completely avoid each other.  
  
Hopefully it _hadn’t_ been abject horror that had stopped Thorin from responding. Hopefully it was just shock, or disbelief, or… Bilbo groaned and thumped his head down on his desk, which was covered in papers.

Paperwork. Yes, he would do his paperwork and then he would go home. And go to bed. And try to forget that this entire day had even happened. Even the good parts like waking up with Thorin wrapped around him, because obviously such occurrences were not good for his mental stability.  
  
Though, for some _strange_ reason Bilbo couldn’t quite concentrate on the journals he had to look over or the notes he should make. What had begun on his notepad as actual notes sooner or later morphed into an attempt at a letter of apology for Thorin. Or at least the beginning of such a letter, because he never made it past the second sentence without realising that what he was writing was not something that _anyone_ could be allowed to read.  
  
 _Dear Thorin, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable with my question, but I really enjoyed you sleeping on-_  
  
 _Dear Thorin, please accept my apologies for my unprofessional behaviour. I hope this won’t cause any problem between us, though you are of course allowed another opinion, I just-_  
  
 _Thorin, if I had a time machine-_  
  
With a sigh Bilbo got up from behind his desk and walked over to where he’d dropped his shoes. He hadn’t put them on after the couch incident which-he was-not-going-to-think-about, because shoes always pinched or squeezed or did something to point out that he was wearing them. If given a choice, he’d just rather not bother with them.  
  
Unfortunately, patients seemed to think that a surgeon without shoes was somehow less competent, or their parents did. And the last thing he’d want to do is cause someone to worry, so yes. Shoes. And now he rather needed them or the walk to his car would be fairly uncomfortable once he got outside.  
  
Bilbo realised that he was frowning at his shoes, and that was rather uncalled for. It wasn’t their fault that their owner hated them and asked colleagues out on dates on what had very likely been a day from hell for them.  
  
“Nicely done,” he muttered to himself as he bent down to put on his shoes. “Excellent in fact, keep up the good, no _great_ work.” He got his coat and his bag and with another mournful look at his paperwork - he’d come in early the next morning instead, Bilbo flicked off the lights and closed his office door. Then he opened it again and went back to collect the idiotic attempts at a letter for Thorin from the bin. These needed to be disposed of in a way that would make sure no one ever saw them again.  
  
“Bye Radagast,” he called as he walked by the man’s office, located just next to his own.  
  
“Good-bye, Bilbo!” came the cheerful reply. “Sebastian says bye as well!”  
  
Sebastian was Radagast pet hedgehog, who he occasionally brought to work, and he was a big hit with Radagast’s young patients. Bilbo had stopped questioning it long ago. There was simply a hedgehog, and that was fine.  
  
“Tell him not to let you stay up all night watching soap operas,” Bilbo called over his shoulder.  
  
“But Josephine is just about to marry Edward!” Radagast protested. “And he is in love with her cousin!”  
  
There were many things Bilbo had stopped questioning, but to his credit, Radagast was a great surgeon. And absolute _wonder_ when it came to explaining an operation to the children and making them feel safe and comfortable. He was not as great with their parents, but Bilbo tried to jump in if there was ever any real chance of a disagreement, and in return, he occasionally got to borrow Sebastian to cheer up his own charges.  
  
The hallways were mostly empty as it was after regular office hours, but too early for the day and night shift to switch, and that was a relief. The further he got from the surgery department the less people to nod and smile at.  
  
Getting out into the fresh - well, as fresh as it got in a big city, air made Bilbo instantly feel better and he stopped half-way to the parking lot, just let the setting sun shine on his face. Erebor was lovely, but a few more windows would not be amiss.  
  
“What is it? Is it a doctor?”

Surprised Bilbo opened his eyes and was met with the sight of a man about his own height but thin as a rake and very, very pale. He had lanky shoulder length brown hair and a glassy stare that practically screamed: ‘I’m clearly off my head on _something’_. And if that didn’t do it, the marks on his arms certainly filled in the blanks.  
  
Bilbo, trying to appear casually, took a step backwards, and the man followed.  
  
“Is it?” he prompted. “A doctor?”  
  
“Yes, I’m a doctor,” Bilbo replied, compassion winning out over the part of him that trumpeted that this was _not_ a good thing. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“We ache,” the man nodded. “We needs it, the medicine. You need to give it to us. He was going to, but he is not here.”  
  
“The pharmacy opens again tomorrow at 7.00,” Bilbo explained, feeling a bit nervous at the wide-eyed stare aimed his way. There was just something deeply unsettling about the way the man was looking at him. It almost seemed hungry. “You need to come back then and they’ll help you.”  
  
Or the guards would, and he'd get the help he'd needed for… whatever it was that he'd clearly had too much of, before it killed him, Bilbo thought to himself.  
  
“Or we can go inside the nice hospital now-“ Where there are guards. Nice guards. “And we’ll find someone who can help you right away.”  
  
“We already knows what will help, and you will give it to us,” the man hissed, and then he reached behind himself and pulled out a knife from the back of his trousers. It was a regular kitchen knife but it still looked _much_ too sharp for Bilbo’s taste. “We needs it!”  
  
“If we just go inside-“ Bilbo began and the man hissed. _Literally_ hissed this time. “Or maybe not.”

Quick as a weasel the other man moved, and suddenly he was standing just a feet away, close enough to be in easy stabbing reach a slightly hysterical part of Bilbo informed him, and close enough so that Bilbo could feel the rank smell of someone who had abstained from showers for quite some time.  
  
“I don’t have any medicine on me, do you understand?” Judging by the thundercloud look starting to appear, probably not. “I don’t, but-” Out of some desperate wish that he’d find _something_ to defend himself with BIbo put his hands in his trouser pockets. His fingers found the stupid letters which he’d just shoved there as to not forget them in his bag. “But I have something else, right here in my pocket.”  
  
“What does it have in its pockets?” The man asked, curiosity replacing the burgeoning anger.  
  
“Guess!” Bilbo suggested brightly, if a tad tinged with hysteria. “We can make it a game. Do you like games?” Bilbo liked games if it gave someone else time to notice what was going on and ended with the guards coming to his rescue. He loved those games.  
  
“We like games!” the man grinned, and Bilbo tried not to wince over the state of his teeth.  
  
“Good,” he said instead. “Then please, have a guess.”  
  
“Medicine?” The man proposed hopefully.  
  
“I’m afraid not.” Bilbo shook his head. “Want to guess again?”

When Bilbo heard the sound of a door opening and closing they’d gone through: keys, (in my bag) cell phone, (in my coat pocket) coins, (nope) nothing, (not correct I’m afraid) and - unsettling enough, bones (erm, no). And he’d also gotten a name out of the thin man: Sméagol.  
  
Bilbo decided that a glance over his shoulder was worth the risk of losing track of the knife, which was still much to close for comfort, but before he could put that thought into action a familiar voice shouted his name.  
  
 _Thorin_. Oh please no, Thorin was not a guard. Thorin should not go anywhere near irrational people who were armed with knives.  
  
Bilbo turned his head around slowly. “If you wanted to yell at me, this is not a good time for it.”  
  
“I can see that,” Thorin said cautiously, walking towards Bilbo and Sméagol. _Why_ was he walking closer!? Did he have the self-preservation of a blind lemming?  
  
“Thorin isn't a doctor,” Bilbo said, turning back towards Sméagol. The knife was now wavering between him and Thorin, who was _still_ walking closer, and Bilbo did not like either of these things one bit. “So he’s not going to have any medicine either, we should just send him back inside. Don't you want to finish our game?”  
  
Thorin opened his mouth and Bilbo glared at him, trying to communicate 'go the hell inside and get guards. Lots of guards'. He wasn’t sure how effective it was though, but at least he kept quiet.  
  
“What is it then,” the thin man asked, tilting his head in Thorin’s direction.  
  
“He’s a caretaker,” Bilbo said with a decisive nod.  
  
Sméagol looked sceptically at Thorin's clearly expensive coat and suit, and behind the thin man’s back Bilbo mouthed "Get security" at Thorin as the mind-reading was clearly not working. When Sméagol turned his way again Bilbo tutted sadly and shook his head.  
  
“He’s got ideas above his station. So what he needs to do is get back inside and finish _cleaning_. Surely you don’t want him to get fired?”  
  
“No…” Sméagol said slowly. “It can go.”  
  
When Thorin looked at Bilbo the smaller man tried to smile encouragingly and convey ‘please leave me alone with the person holding a knife’ in the most comforting way that he knew how and Thorin slowly, _excruciatingly_ slowly, turned around and started heading for the hospital.  
  
“Wait,” Smeagol said after just a few seconds and Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. “Why did it want to yell at you?”  
  
“Well,” Bilbo scrambled for an answer. “I don’t know if he wants to yell at me, but I did something I think he might be upset about.”  
  
“Litter?”  
  
“Something like that,” Bilbo said with a weak imitation of a smile. It disappeared completely when Thorin, that idiot, turned back towards them and actually took a step _away_ from the hospital.  
  
“I’m not upset,” Thorin said. “Not at all.”  
  
While that was rather comforting to know, and perhaps they’d be able to remain friends, this was _not_ the time for it.  
  
“Don’t you think you’d best _go_ and clean?” he asked Thorin with a pointed look towards the hospital.  
  
“I- right. I’ll do that.”  
  
Bilbo sighed in relief when Thorin finally went back inside and the automatic doors closed behind him.  
  
“So,” he said, turning back towards Smeagol once more. “It wasn’t bones either, what is your next guess?”  
  
“Pocket lint?”  
  
-  
  
When the guards crept around the corner of the hospital they found Bilbo slowly trying to inch his way backwards without appearing to move, while Sméagol jumped around, a shaking hand clutching the knife like he intended to strangle it.  
  
“Tissues!”  
  
“No,” Bilbo replied wearily, trying to figure out if he could actually outrun the other man or not. It was getting clearer and clearer that staying around him was not going to be good for his health.  
  
“We do not like this game,” Sméagol said, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Bilbo had just spotted the guards so he carefully kept his shoulders relaxed and tried his best not to look like someone about to be rescued. He needed to keep the other man’s attention fixed on him long enough for to keep him from noticing the guards before they could get close.  
  
“Do you want to play something else? Another game? Do you like riddles?”  
  
“No more games," Sméagol snapped. " _What_ does it have in its _pockets_!”  
  
“It’s a letter,” Bilbo said, as that was easier than explaining how it was the sad beginnings of several letters. The guards continued to come closer.  
  
“For who?”  
  
“It’s for Thorin.” That earned him a blank look, and the knife was suddenly closer. Too close, the point of it almost touching Bilbo’s stomach. “The, um, the caretaker.”  
  
“Is it a nice letter?”  
  
“I- I don’t really know,” Bilbo said, trying not to look down and failing. “I wanted to apologize.” And now he really wished that he’d written an extraordinarily good letter, because if anyone would actually find these on him and read them he might as well already be dead because the embarrassment would surely have killed him anyway.  
  
“For littering?”  
  
And then the guards were finally within grabbing reach.  
  
“It tricked us!” Sméagol howled when one of the guards wrenched his arms up behind his back and another one carefully picked up the knife from where it’d been dropped when they pulled him away from Bilbo.  
  
“Don’t hurt him,” Bilbo said even as his knees finally gave up on this standing business. “Oh.”  
  
Two of the guards started towards him, but he waved his hand as a sign that he was okay. “I’ll be alright, let me just… sit quietly for a moment.”  
  
“Bilbo!”  
  
“Or not.”  
  
Thorin rushed towards him and Bilbo struggled to his feet  just in time to almost be bowled over by him.    
  
“You nearly got yourself killed!” Thorin practically shouted into his ear, arms gripping Bilbo’s shoulder and giving him a small shake. Bilbo winced because Thorin sounded very upset and it would indeed seem that he’d changed his mind in regards to the yelling thing.  
  
Except… Thorin then wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s back and they were suddenly _hugging_. Bilbo had just managed to get his own arms around Thorin in turn, and his mind was doing its best to catch up as well, when the taller man pulled back slightly. “I’ve never been so relieved in my entire life.” And then… then they were _kissing_.  
  
Bilbo’s knees again declared that this idea of remaining upright was just foolishness and forced him to cling to Thorin’s shoulders like some swooning thing out of a harlequin romance. That Thorin's shoulder were very nice to cling to only made this slightly better.  
  
“I, you, _what_?” Bilbo asked eloquently when they were forced to part for air.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, looking quite uncomfortable and moving _away_. “I didn’t mean to- I hope you can forgive me.”  
  
“For the love of-“ someone said behind them and they both turned to face Dwalin who was looking deeply annoyed. He wasn't dressed in his uniform, but Bilbo felt comforted by his presence nonetheless. Knives probably just bounced of his muscles. Or not, but he still was very nice to have around. “You better not be apologizing for kissing him you big teenage girl," Dwalin told Thorin. "Now tell him you want to take him to dinner.”  
  
“You would?” Bilbo asked, which, considering the kiss and all, maybe shouldn’t have been such a big surprise.  
  
“Teenage girls the both of them,” Dwalin muttered darkly.  
  
Thorin nodded. “If you still want to,” he said and brushed his thumb over Bilbo’s cheek. “I'd very much like to go on a date with you.”  
  
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Bilbo said, looking up in something like awe at the smile that spread over Thorin’s face. Had he caused that?  
  
“Good,” Thorin smiled. “I-“ But then Bilbo was claiming his turn for starting a round of surprise-kissing. Though considering the way Thorin responded, Bilbo rather thought that he didn’t mind.  
  
"Finally!" Dwalin grunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to say:  
> I really hope my Gollum didn’t cause any upset. I don’t in any way intend to portray people who are need of medication pertaining to mental health issues as dangerous and/or insane. Gollum is above all an addict, a very far gone addict, and he’s desperate for another fix, and desperate people are not made out of puppies and candy. It’s *possible* that he might benefit from some actual medicine as well, but the ‘medicine’ bit is just what he calls his drugs, and SPOILER this is something that will be touched upon again if I get my act together and write a sequel I’ve got planned.
> 
> Okay? If not I’d love to hear from you, and I’ll try to make things clearer in the story.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this! I’m glad to see people got just as interested in this weird medical au that I am.  
> Thanks again!


End file.
